Blogs exist, I am told, to relay the latest flotsam of the blogger’s thoughts, and I am not sure I have something new to say every day, let alone every hour upon the hour. My Blog is my books, and primarily the fiction, and in the fiction, primarily, to date, in the Blok Saga. This is the cycle of 6 books on my misfortunate alter ego, Avram Blok, in his pilgrim’s progress through a mad world. Since my exile from industrial print publishing, I undertook to reprint the first 4 volumes, published between 1985 and 1997, and add the two unpublished narratives, THE FUNDAMENTAL BLOK and BLOK 6: THE CHINESE SMILE. Number 5 is now printed, and soon to be available from my own obscure Amazon marketplace site – “louvishbooks”. It also appears now that the BLOK volumes, as well as other old and new stuff, and some of my movie biographies, will be available as E-books from April 2013, rolling out thru the subsequent months. More updates as this is clarified.
The older one gets, the more the storms and cataclysms of human endeavour appear as cycles, old ideas becoming new again, old tyrannies replaced by new ones, old certainties dying out for new, in a principle known in Yiddish as “die selbe drek in a neue dekoratsieh.” Basic principles remain the same, in the indivisibilty of justice, the growing knowledge that the planet is saved for all, or for no one, that we cannot favour our own ethnic or national or religious group over others without courting disaster. Read Dickens, Victor Hugo, Cervantes. Read Joyce and Beckett for the absurdity of reality (or “sur-reality”), revisit the Brave Soldier Svejk for the equal indivisibility of stupidity, the negativity of nationalism and the imposture of the powerful as saviours.
I have tried to give this idea some voice, in BLOK, now bellowing out in the wilderness. If you have an interest in this, let me know, preferably not in a string of nested urls vending Luis Vuiton or viagra. I think I am being reduced to the character outlined by Woody Allen as his most feared future: some old fool trudging into cafes with a plastic bag, drooling about socialism. As Kurt Vonnegut always said: So it goes. There was another writer who knew that utopias only existed on other planets. Apparently there are amoebas somewhere on Jupiter’s moons, so there’s hope after all, somewhere. Still, there’s always the Marx Brothers, if you just want a few laughs.
All the best to the Great Outside Universe!
More non-sense in due course…