Aad de Gids on Michael Mc Aloran

“none unto/ ever unto blind bones for hyenic jaws agape no end till arbitrary reflect until…

precipice deliverance collide cauterize ache trace what lung foreign silentee…

breach dead stone purpose un-salve reduct cascade it-bitten brace long shadow fallen…

zero-tone eclipse ever-forage no not once still yet what as if to say some bankrupt cannot…

taste waste attrition locked once more upon utters vast no utters coliseum naught…” (In Absentia)

this beginning of a book of Michael McAloran, one of the best Irish writers of today, already illustrates my thesis, that Michael in his writing digs out his writing, digs out all from underneath, to get to the essence of it all, which nowadays seems to be: nothing. writing is the medium with which one can reach these escatological esthetics, a kind of “anti-esthetics”, seemingly the best as it eradicates itself while forwarding. of course there are plenty of examples in other arts, philosophies and cultures too but specifically in Michael’s poetry, poetry/prose, one finds a sufficiently radical expression of this black widow like “literature fatale”. or a neoBurroughs, neoGenet, neoDuras, neoStein, so to speak.

an “ever-forage” will go on and on in a “neopostworld” or otherwise, prepostcataclysmic world, then, the report of it, as already that other Irish writer had spread out, and that other: Joyce and Beckett. as always in literature there is the factor of parricide and it may as well be them, to radicalise, which comprises what it also may be, radicalise by eradicating them. in my opinion Michael goes much further and also shows this new feature of “anti-esthetics”, punk-esthetics, to gradually inject into what is written subtle dosages of toxins, which at once secure as dissect the literature which is build up while nowhere immune for the circumstantial pressures of “outside”, and to withstand them is to not withstand them but let them in and whatever the fuck it is they’re going to do: let them have it.

“cancel adrift redempt no drag trace awash with crimson surmount in ever-banquet…

eyes nothing tongue dead some pulse-bud symbiosis lapse no retort…

devours silt stone trade meat for nothing ever in bone deaf ever unto it says a glint…

words to carve out absenteeism/ it is stun less than ever-collision…”

in some manner this is writing on the skin of the world and we find a plentitude of stylistic features with apparent overlappings with a small contingent of other artists, writers. there is the threatening “listing” method already a Linnaeus set up to classify the botanic world. yet this means here in literature an endpoint is reached, a “dead center”. metaphorial, meritorial, economist, schoolist variables are already left here. in fact we’re really standing on the edge of the world.

“eyes nothing tongue dead some pulse-bud symbiosis lapse no retort… “

this sentence, “sentence”, sentence in literaturetheoretical aspect as judicial aspect, with its double negations, nevertheless conveys a richness which makes reminesces to Adorno’s “Negative Dialektik”(1969) and “Ästhetische Theorie”which offered a dense, acribic language to decifer either or disencrypt, as he wrote in “paratactic patches” the imminent contradictions of which were no negative feature rather undistorted characteristics of “the case itself”. perhaps “some pulse-bud lapse” still beholds a cache for remnants of a stash of coke could be held in but it is the “Tacoma Narrows Bridge”, which, collapsed.

In the following last passus (i loathe the term “stanza”) i will make some final comparisons of Michael’s idiosyncratic art, poetry, poetry/prose, with other artists who, as i feel, show resemblances in style, un/style, approachability (or not, which i’ve learned from my own writings to not being a negative feature), inherent strength of voice (irrevocably), abstrahation of topic yet an accurate mappology of the endworld. Gertrude Stein in her “The Making of Americans” show in to the hilt that is: unto inintelligibility, in unbearable repetitive prose, “The Making of Americans” and it is a phenomenal book. what these writers do (Michael, Stein, Adorno) is an upholstery of the surfaces of the world, an inner and outer lining, following every crevasce, niche, gargoyle, pocked and lesioned area, they offer zone-floating, belettered and besieged and antsed up surfaces in either profane, sacral (but only mock-sacral), surfacial and perhaps superficial tableaux vivantes et morts alike. a funeral of the world as we know it. Marguerite Duras did the same and with Alain Robbe-Grillet, two representatives of the “Nouveau Roman” they, offered unbelievable accurate but therefor also unbearable, exhausting descriptions of all through each other (Duras) or a fourty page description of how a gull sat on a pole (Robbe-Grillet). sat on a pole, a description of the pole, the wind, the colours of pole and seagull, a wavering of its feathers by which kind of wind, a description of the water, waves, engulfments or withdrawal et cetera. in fact this was an assault, an assasination of certain older ways of writing texts. Cioran, Céline, Celan all provide ample similarities with the writing of Michael McAloran. they stamped their work “fatal”, “end”, “deadly”, “lastness”, “lostness”. “Of the nasty necessity of being born” (Cioran). “Journey to the End of the Night” (Céline). Georges Pérec’s book “La Disparition” written entirely without the letter “e”. I consider this to be part of the same punk-esthetics while it is an inner attack against either syntax as semantics (which in this particular book were kept, to make it all the more radical). so here “intelligibility” was key to otherworldliness. then we have the utter gratuitness of Andy Warhol as to live his life as a nylon fixture inmidst the jet-set of NY. it is these rims, of life itself, which are being, not only written by Michael (et al), but also LIVED.
we have the poet David McLean born in Brexit but living in Sweden and when they both still produced poems on facebook the flabbergasting identity of topic was apparent but a world wide difference in style. I would be inclined to say that in Davids no lesser “nihilistic, agnostic, escatologic, antireligious poetry” humor perhaps was the factor that divided their style. above that BLOCKWRITING, as also favored by me, seemed the preferred style of Michael while David with capricorneal rectilinearity offered “five” and “five more”. i know from private correspondence with Michael he nowhere lacks in humor and many were the occasions he called me “you crazy fuck” which sweetypie name got a rigorous riposte. while he is a chatter de luxe i always lacked the swiftness to answer promptly. what all these writers have in common is that they near the edge, like Rothko in his paintings, Barnett Newman, Louise Bourgeois, Majakowski in his theatrical plays, while Adorno laced his books with (the citation) “life doesn’t live” and in his text: “index falsii” (all is wrong). this dangerous style of writing (eradicating your writing while exuding it) is also the preferred esthetics of my brother and me. in the 80s he made the painting “cityguerilla” of a city with detailed houses, only to overcover it with a fiery black and red crossing-through annihilation. he went photographing without filmroll which speaks for itself. I believe all mentioned, fit this bill of anti-esthetics. what rests, is the debris after the negations.

 

 

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