MORE WHY

I’m not going to lie, I’m still in the thick of digging through/ re-evaluating the PKD/ Pink Light book. And it’s ramping up. More reasons to finish than not, still.

Between that, trying to keep on top of the print shop, get my shit together in the garden (I spent the majority of a day last week grinding bones to dust with a mortar and pestle. That is not an analogy), and not chucking my god damned computer out the window…I’m behind. There will be a “non-PKD” post later this week as catch up (and I promise not to let this newsletter turn into just a constant update on PKD— but please feel free to inform me if it does), but for now there’s this.

It’s such a strange thing, jacking your head back into something that pretty well consumed you for a couple of years, and then you let go of entirely. Remembering why you wanted to do it (there’s a lot) and also why you stopped (such a completely ridiculous amount of research, and if you are doing it for real, a very deep hole to decide to dive back into— careful there, Jim). Moments where you realize that there is more meat on the bones than you could hope to serve up, and the responsibility inherent in presenting someone else’s life, with all of its complexity. Philip K. Dick was really, really complex.

There’s a LOT of books about PKD, but one of my main sources (then and now) is “The Selected Letters of Philip K. Dick”, a series of six hardcover volumes published by Underwood-Miller in the 90’s. PKD was an absolutely voluminous letter writer (sometimes 2 a day, and often pretty damn lengthy). Of course, none of these letters were necessarily meant for publication (but he kept carbons of all of them, so….?), but it can be an uncomfortably intimate look into someone’s psyche. Long letters to numerous writer friends, short ones to the DMV (and, uh…the FBI); would be lovers, ex-wives, his kids, his enemies, and (every so often) to Richard Nixon (he was not a fan). Letters to everyone (Art Spiegelman, or MAUS fame, gets a few). It’s all over the map, and changes according to the correspondent.

PKD was whip-smart, erudite, incredibly well-read, extremely charming and funny. At times, thoughtful and sweet in a way that’ll break your heart. At others— selfish, petty, childish and sometimes cruel. Like I said: complexity.

But in my files I ran into this ”rare“ 1979 audio interview that I partially transcribed (In 2017, maybe?). It’s this stuff that makes me want to finish the book. Not the flashy drama and craziness of his personal life (although there’s plenty of that), but these moments where he just nails it.

I have no doubt this was pertinent and powerful when he said it in ’79 (or throughout human history), but….yeah. Now is now.

There’s certain (rare) people, I think, who can rattle shit like this off with an almost painful clarity (another of those for me is James Baldwin); where you feel like— man, how can anyone read/ hear this and ignore it. It feels impossible to not take it in, to not wrestle with it.

It’s as if it has nothing to do with literature or writing or science fiction or philosophy, ethics, whatever. It transcends those things, and cuts into a base core of humanity.

In the intro chapter (previously posted), I use a quote from PKD where he refers to himself as “a fucked up mess”. And as I heave myself back into his world— yes, absolutely. That’s certainly a piece of the whole (as it is with damn near all of us, to varying degrees), but…maybe that “mess” was what made him able to fully engage with some ideas— important ideas— that were too “whacked out” or insane to be taken seriously during his lifetime. And instead of half-assing it, he dove in over his head. Again and again.

There’s this ongoing “joke” in…I think it’s Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep (don’t hassle me on this; I’m just getting back in and when you read 30 of his books in a year sometimes details run together and it’s hard to remember specifics of what happened in which) where the computer that runs his door is talking snotty to him and won’t let him into his apartment because he’s late on his rent (or something). In 1968 (!!!) it was mildly chilling but mostly played for laughs (because PKD was often hilarious) take on “the computers taking over”.

It’s not funny now.

It’s why I almost chucked my computer out the window 5 times today.

You too? Go figure.

It’s why I had to go dig in the dirt to shake it off. Grind some bones. Highly recommend, by the way.

Thanks for reading/ being here.

—z

(Here’s another quote, Just for fun. Don’t even get me started on David Lynch, these days)