Friday 14 July 2023

 HOW MUCH I AM ENJOYING CULTURAL AMNESIA BY CLIVE JAMES!


I was delighted to read his flaying of the appalling Bertolt Bretcht. Hypocrite and apologist for Stalin.

Bertolt Brecht   ... self-satisfied prick

I am now starting on his piece on Jean Paul Sartre - boss-eyed prat.

Good on you Clive James. You have given me such enjoyment. Rest in peace Clive.

Tie me kangaroo down Sport. Keep me cockatoo cool Blue.



4 comments:

  1. Oh, God, it causes me actual pain to read the appalling little shit Gene Vincent's patronising of one the greatest intellects of the twentieth century.

    The more so when you read these disgusting emails, purporting to be from Mr James [who was at the time dying of leukaemia] to the appalling Gene - praising Gene's non-existent novels and bogus pretensions to culture. Read the forged emails below, and savour the sheer, unfathomable, rancid nastiness of the depraved mind that wrote and the published them.

    nd if further proof were needed of just how rancid a piece of shit Gene is, here are two "emails" purportedly to sent to Gene by the late literary genius Clive James.

    What makes these forgeries so despicable - apart from their blasphemously appalling literary style and the ludicrous "Ocker" idioms - is that Gene wrote them at a time when Mr James was dying of leukaemia.

    Are there no depths to which Gene will not stoop? Read them and weep.

    FORGED EMAIL NUMBER ONE:

    "Hi there Gene,

    Yes it's Clive James here. No worries about plagiarism Gene. I'm delighted you have used that quotation from my North Face of Soho memoir. As it happens many people seem to like the volume May Week was in June best, but I have a soft spot for North Face of Soho. I just love your blog, your writing style reminds me very much of my own. As I said no worries about plagiarism - it all comes under fair use in copyright law. And that's fair dinkum with me.

    This friend of yours Detterling seems a weird cove. Love the way you take the Michael out of him. Back in school days he is the sort of fat kid that I would love to whang my donger at in Kogarah primary school back in Sydney. Love the way you have described him as the sort of man who would join in with the clap-hands Gloria in church. And the sort of man who would hang in his living room a Jack Vettriano print. Yes, I think we all get the picture.

    I liked very much the title of your new memoir: Heaven About us in our Infancy - the Sacred and profane memoirs from infancy to mid teens of Gene Vincent. Are you by any chance a fan of Brideshead Revisited? (Wonderful novel by the way, and those memories of Charles Ryder are indeed both sacred and profane.)

    Anyhow gene, wishing you all the best. She'll be right Blue. Tie me Kangaroo down Sport.

    Clive"

    FORGED EMAIL NUMBER TWO:

    G'Day Gene,

    Yes it's Clive here again. I been reading through your blog. Boy can you write? Or Boy can you write?

    I note that you will become a full-time writer from 1st January 2017. Good on you cobber! Give it a burl. We need writers like you. As you know I may soon be shuffling off this mortal coil and it gives me a good feeling that someone such as yourself is around to ensure that good and original writing will continue.

    I have been absolutely enthralled by Granny Barkes fell in Woolworths. I don't know If you are aware but it is causing quite a buzz in literary circles.

    I love the way you handle metaphysical despair. And that ineffable way you have of communicating the effects of ennui. Sometimes I think you are something of an anachronism - that you have been born out of time. I can just see you back in 1920s Paris shooting the breeze at the left bank café tables with the likes of James Joyce, Ernest Hemingway, F Scott Fitzgerald, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein et al.

    Yesterday arvo I had a conversation about you with Germaine Greer (fine Sheila Germaine no matter what anyone says) and I told her to watch out for your star shooting through the literary firmament very soon.

    So, let's sink another tube of Fosters to you Gene.

    Tie me kangaroo down Sport. Keep me cockatoo cool.

    Clive

    For these, Gene Vincent deserves to have his balls kicked to a pulp.

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  2. Bertolt Brecht - self-satisfied prick: Jean Paul Sartre - boss-eyed prat.

    Takes one to know one, Gene "Groper" Vincent.

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  3. Au contraire to everything you have written above I find those emails from Clive James to Gene delightful. So uplifting.

    Yours faithfully,

    Camper van Beethoven

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  4. Gene, why don't you fuck off and do something useful, like rounding up cats for the vivisectionists?

    ReplyDelete