I just finished reading Don Delillo’s White Noise, which was first published in 1985, and is out in a very nice Penguin Classic Deluxe paperback.

[My favorite toy raygun. By the way, my artist friend Paul Mavrides did a great painting, “Peace Dividend” of rayguns in 1997.]

Somehow I didn’t read Delillo’s book when it came out, even though there was considerable buzz. Maybe I was bitter and envious that Delillo was getting the lit-crit attention that I wished we cyberpunk SF writers were getting. You can’t really trust writers’ opinions about other writers books—many of us are, at least some of the time, mean-spirited, back-biting, and resentful.

Anyway, White Noise kicks ass. Other than it’s (refreshing) lack of computers and the internet, it could have been published this year. The dialog is amazingly flat and hard-hitting. And the plot elements are somewhat science-fictional: an unfathomable “airborne toxic event,” and a mysterious high-tech drug called Dylar. Delillo does this cool thing of throwing in generic TV and advertising phrases, standing on their own in little paragraphs, breaking up the action. “Technology with a human face.” “And this could represent the leading edge of some warmer air.” “Not that I have anything personal against death from our vantage point high atop Metropolitan County Stadium.”

[Advertising pins for the 1980 Virgin Books edition of my novel White Light, the pins stored in an argon-filled tetrahedron at the Rucktronics Museum in Silicon Valley.]

Quite a few of Delillo’s scenes are set in a supermarket, with our characters bathed in the waves and radiation of product information. The white noise. They get most of their information about the world from supermarket tabloids.

[A Liberty Light, a gift from my friend Nick Herbert, who at one time worked for the manufacturer.]

The other thing I’ve been into during this rainy, cabin-feverish week is to listen to a boxed set, Back to Mono, of singles produced by Phil Spector 1958-1969. I got it from the library.

My favorite is Darlene Love, singing “Today I Met the Boy I’m Going To Marry,” which you can hear in this YouTube video of…the phsyical record spinning on a turntable. It’s gotten very hard to find free mp3s of songs online, but for some reason you can find a lot of songs being “pirated” as soundtracks of YouTube videos. You can find mp3s on marketing sites like lala.com, but then they only let you hear the things once before buying it. And if you really want to get an mp3 for free you end up on, like, a Polish language site seething with malware. So hooray again for YouTube.

There are a number of videos of the Ronettes, though—they’re the supreme girl-group named after their lead singer Veronica (Ronnie) Bennett, who was later married (unhappily) to Phil Spector—thus she’s more commonly known as Ronnie Spector. That’s “Be My Baby” above, in a kind of weird video of a TV show with, oh my god, gogo dancers. Ronnie’s not a really great dancer herself, but it’s sweet and cute to see her and the other two Ronettes do their best. Probably “Baby I Love You,” is a greater song, here’s a video of that, in which the two sub-Ronettes (Ronnies sister and cousin) are relegated to a role liike appliances being wheeled from a closet. I like their Easter Parade outfits in this one.

I always had trouble figuring out what ethnicity the Ronettes were—turns out they’re a mix of black, white, and Native American. Researching them and Phil Spector and his other groups, it seems like most of them had pretty rough lives. Phil Spector’s in jail for killing a woman, for instance, with no chance of parole till he’s 88.

Looking back to happier times…another great group that Spector recorded were the Crystals, led by the wonderful Lala Brooks. We’re talking “Da Doo Run Run.” You can see the Crystals sing it on YouTube. Oddly enough the song “He’s a Rebel,” which is credited to the Crystals, was in fact sung by Darlene Love. Here’s a recent video of Darlene Love singing the song with Lala Brooks of the Crystals. And, wow, YouTube is bottomless, here’s Darlene and Joan Jett singing the song.

[Danglng raindrops with a palm-tree-bokeh background.]

But the weirdest video of “He’s a Rebel” is the following. Back in 1964, Kenneth Anger made a fairly outrageous underground movie called Scorpio Rising, whose entire soundtrack is pop songs of the day. I remember seeing it in an art house back then and cracking up that they had “He’s a Rebel” in the movie overlaid with some clips of Jesus and the disciples walking around in some ancient religious film. You can see the movie on Google video. The “He’s a Rebel” part cuts in about twenty seconds after the 16 minute mark.

White noise, white light, white heat.

This week I’ve been working on the final revisions of Nested Scrolls: A Memoir, my autobiography. I’ve contracted for it to come out in a collector’s edition from PS Publishing in England, and then in a trade edition from Tor/Forge Books in the US. I’m not sure about the publication dates yet, either 2011 or 2012.

Today I’m running an excerpt from some material that I just added, a passage about blogging and photography. The photos are mostly from a recent walk on St. Joseph’s hill near Los Gatos.

After five and a half years of blogging, I’ve put up some seven hundred posts which, taken as a whole, bulked to a word count comparable to that of three medium-sized novels.

Have I been wasting my time? What’s the point of a blog?

The issue of wasting time is a straw man. A big part of being a writer is finding harmless things to do when you aren’t writing. To finish a novel in a year, I only have to average a page a day, and writing any given page can take less than an hour. So I do in fact have quite a bit of extra time. Of course a lot of that time goes into getting my head into the right place for the day’s writing—and then contemplating and revising what I wrote. But blogging isn’t a bad thing to do while hanging around waiting for the muse.

[Marble rye sandwich with avocado smears.]

I often post thoughts and links that relate to whatever writing project I’m currently working on. And my readers post comments and further links which can be useful. So to some extent my blog acts as a research tool.

Another thing about a blog is that it serves as a tool for self-promotion. By now, my blog has picked up a certain following, and every month it receives about a hundred thousand visits. The only ads I run are for my own books.

But my blog isn’t really about research or commerce. The main reason I keep doing it is that the form provides a creative outlet. I like editing and tweaking my posts, and I like illustrating them. I alternate text and pictures, usually putting a photo between every few paragraphs.

I need to mention that I switched over to digital photography around the time when I started my blog in 2004. I’ve used a series of pocket-sized SONY Cybershot models, a heavy-duty Canon 5D single-lens reflex camera, and a medium-sized Canon G10.

I carry a camera a lot of the time, and I’m often on the lookout for photographs. I sometimes think of photography as instant transrealism. When it goes well, I’m appropriating something from my immediate surroundings and turning it into a loaded, fantastic image.

When incorporating my photos into my blog, I don’t worry much about whether the images have any obvious relevance to the texts that I pair them with. My feeling is that the human mind is capable of seeing any random set of things as going well together. So any picture can go into any post. It’s like the Surrealist practice of juxtaposition, or like the old Sixties game of putting on music while you watch a TV show with the sound off. Our perceptual system is all about perceiving patterns—even if they’re not there.

This said, if I have enough images on hand, I will do what I can to bring out harmonies and contrasts among the words and the pictures. Subconscious and subtextual links come into play. Assembling each blog post becomes a work of craftsmanship. It gives me a little hit of what the John Malkovich character in Art School Confidential calls “the narcotic moment of creative bliss.”

Having the blog and the digital cameras has revitalized my practice of photography. With the blog as my outlet, I know that my photos will be seen and appreciated. It’s not like I’m just throwing endless packs of photo prints into a drawer. For many years, Sylvia assembled our photos into yearly family albums, but now, with the children gone, she’s let this drop. “The kids don’t want to see albums of us two taking trips,” she points out. And I’ve gone online.

Digital cameras are a whole new game for me, after using film cameras for forty years. I like how my digital cameras give me immediate feedback—I don’t have to wait for a week or a month to learn if my pictures were in focus. And I like using my image-editing software. I crop my pictures, tweak the contrast, mute or intensify the colors, and so on. It’s like being back in the darkroom with, wonderfully, an “Undo” control.

And now that I have my photo-illustrated blog, my camera acts as even more of a companion to me than before. When I’m out on the street, I’ll sometimes slip into a photojournalist mode of searching out apt images while making mental or written notes for a post.

An interesting effect of the internet is that, if you’re a heavy user, your consciousness and sense of self become more distributed and less localized. Even when I don’t have the camera along, the blog is a kind of companion, a virtual presence at my side. My old sense of self used to include my home, my workplace and the coffee shops I frequent—but now it includes my blog and my email. Bill Gibson was right. Cyberspace has become a part of daily life.

It’s raining like a mofo here in California this week. I love the winter rains, I like how every little spot of the landscape gets watered. It reminds me of the hylozoic Zen koan:

Q: “Does a stone have a soul?”
A: “The universal rain moistens all creatures.

It’s absurd how the news-media always try and put a disaster-and-crisis-and-watch-your-television slant on some a healthful and revivifying natural process that is in no sense a harsh surprise. But why even worry about them? The rain is right here, right outside, right now.

I was busy revising Jim and the Flims over the last couple of months, and now I’m ready for the final scramble to the peak.

Revising a book, I’m always anxious that it will be somehow unfixable. But it is always fixable, if I keep an open mind. When revising a book, I often I think of the I Ching hexagram number #18, a figure of six lines, some solid some broken, which looks like this.

This hexagram is Ku / Work on What Has Been Spoiled [Decay] .

It’s composed of two three-line patterns called trigrams . The upper trigram is Kên / Keeping Still, Mountain, and the lower trigram is Sun / The Gentle, Wind.

I like that phrase, “Work on What Has Been Spoiled.” “Spoiled” might suggest the notion of someone interfering with your work, but you don’t have to take it that way. Things can spoil by sitting around and beginning to rot. Or a spontaneous gesture might be spoiled by a slip or a loss of attention during the execution. The point is that you can fix it.

I’ll paste in some of the analysis of this hexagram from an online copy of the classic Richard Wilhelm translation of the I Ching, rendered into English by Cary F. Baynes (Bollingen Series, Princeton University Press, 1950).

The Chinese character ku represents a bowl in whose contents worms are breeding. This means decay. It is come about because the gentle indifference in the lower trigram has come together with the rigid inertia of the upper, and the result is stagnation. Since this implies guilt, the conditions embody a demand for removal of the cause. Hence the meaning of the hexagram is not simply “what has been spoiled” but “work on what has been spoiled”.

WORK ON WHAT HAS BEEN SPOILED
Has supreme success.
It furthers one to cross the great water.
Before the starting point, three days.
After the starting point, three days.

What has been spoiled through man’s fault can be made good again through man’s work. … Work toward improving conditions promises well, because it accords the possibilities of the time. … We must not recoil from work and danger—symbolized by crossing of the great water—but must take hold energetically. Success depends, however, on proper deliberation. … Decisiveness and energy must take the place of inertia and indifference that have led to decay, in order that the ending may be followed by a new beginning.

Write on, aided by the secret machineries of the night!

I’m revising my novel Jim and the Flims this month, getting ready for a final push to the end. I haven’t taken any new pictures since last week, so I’ll just recycle some images from 2009.

In my novel, Jim is in the afterworld (called Flimsy), and he may or may not bring his dead wife Val back to life on Earth. It’s a take on the Orpheus and Eurydice legend, but I’m considering a happy ending, although I keep wondering if a “happily ever after” ending is best.

I gather that, in romance novels, the HEA ending (as they call it) is more or less mandatory. As the romance novel writer Janet Dean says on the writing-advice website Seekerville: Escape from Unpubbed Island: “What I love about romance novels is the guarantee of a happy ending. That’s why I read and write them.” But should I be following writing advice from such a source?

[Speaking of “unpubbed island,” I keep thinking about the stories of how the Inuit supposedly dispose of aged family members who become a burden. Eventually the same fate overtakes older writers. The editors put you on an ice floe with a hunk of blubber. “We’ll be in touch.”]

[Two alien flims: a jiva and a yuel, left to right.]

Back to my plot. What if my character Jim doesn’t in fact get his wife, Val, back at the end of the Jim and the Flims?

At a deep level, Jim and the Flims is about a man coming to terms with his grief over his wife’s death. So it might be a cop-out for Jim to get Val back. Maybe it’s enough if he travels through the whole process, and at the end he’s rounded off a grief cycle. Nobody ever comes back from the dead. You can’t ever go back to the happy person you used to be.

I’d guess that the grief process is the transreal theme of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth in the first place. Here’s a link to Vergil’s version in the Georgics, and here’s a link to the story in Ovid’s Metamorphoses.

Eurydice is bitten by a poisonous snake soon after her marriage to Orpheus. Orpheus goes down to the underworld and plays his lyre and garners some sympathy. He’s like, “It was unjust, it was too soon.” Pluto, the god of the underworld, gives him Eurydice and tells him to lead her out of the underworld, but not to look back. And, when Orpheus is almost out of the cave entrance, he looks back at his beloved, perhaps worried that she wasn’t following, and now she breathes the world, “Farewell,” and fades like smoke in the air. He never sees her again, and the keepers of the underworld won’t let him come back and try again.

Vergil says Orpheus was soon torn to shreds at a wild Bacchanal, and that his severed head floated down the river to the underworld, the head still calling out for Eurydice. Ovid says that Orpheus “was the first of the Thracian people to transfer his love to young boys, and enjoy their brief springtime, and early flowering, this side of manhood.”

In other words, our bereaved poet/singer turns alkie or gay! Gotta love it.

So what about Jim and the Flims? As a half-measure, I’d been entertaining the notion that Jim does in fact get Val back to Earth at the end—but then she frikkin’ divorces him! I was thinking of that as a post-modern twist.

Or maybe it’s heavier if Jim somehow can’t get Val to come back at all. It’s not so much that she wants to come and that he mistakenly he looks at her—like in the Orpheus an Eurydice myth. I think it’s rather that Val wants to go through the zero and start again. I’d need to prefigure this kind of predilection on Val’s part, or show her growing into this mind-set during her stay in Flimsy.

All this said, I might be outsmarting myself if I don’t just do the comfortable, reader-friendly thing and let Jim bring Val back. HEA! What I can do is make this a little hard for him. Like, Val initially doesn’t want to come, and maybe he has to talk her into it. Perhaps the scary ghost of Amenhotep’s mummy shows up near Flimsy’s core and, like, scares Val into Jim’s arms.