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laughing at the black iron prison: tom robbins by Sara Aronson (hermes23w@disinfo.net) - December 22, 2001 |
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| Never before has a Bard had a ray gun, that futuristic contraption capable of bursting readers' skulls like an universal embryo, laying contents prey to scrutiny, manipulation, and conversion into a cosmic daiquiri of ah-ha juice. Like archetypical spy flicks, once the cryptic knowledge is demystified, its destined for self-destruction in five seconds, taking the cranium with it and shouting "WHOOPJAMBOREE!" Initiated by Robbins' Certified-Ontological-Ray-Gun for the Repressed, Depressed & Chronically Jovial, the reader dips a timid brain toe into the waters of transcendence, taking gray matter astral skinny dipping. Naturally, explosive effects might occur for connoisseurs of fine novels that happen across Tom Robbins like enlightened early birds across acres of hashish (when did the Assassins ever need worms?). Cocktail parties of his characters would include outlaws of Woodpecker and cowgirl variety conversing with a former CIA agent and full-time pedophile about duality, perhaps around carafes of Ripple supplied by a middle-aged male countess. Timbuktu University staff (alumni include no less than Robert Anton Wilson, Timothy Leary, Terence McKenna, and John Lilly) listen as a shaman chuckles sublimely. An octogenarian monarch toots cocaine while hobnobbing with a geriatric hacker about authority of choice. Robbins appears, complete with psychology doctorate and a mustache so abused by ponderous munchings it must be thinking of packing up its follicles and moving. As captivating as showgirls performing mesmerism while hovering two inches above the apex of a lawn sculpture a la Giza, Robbins has stolen hearts of people worldwide like a reluctant magnetic pickpocket in a land of metal wallets. Does his Zen Master Ray Gun convey something emanating newness like sephiroth? Or does he titillate palettes like wine with vintage center Tree of Life ring with insight that's common of art, literature, drugs, and the famed Tantric double lotus? Pynchon, Joyce, and Dada (who isn't dead) weave chaotic tapestries of the phantom elixir termed alternately God-Allah-YHVH, Tao, Buddha, Slack, and That-Which-Cannot-Be-Named. They make it as easy as cold fusion to understand and labyrinthine to navigate. Although the craftsmanship inherent in compositions such as Finnegans Wake are revered by the clandestine C.R.A.F.T. club haunting Robbins' latest book, Robbins is beloved for the yippeewahoo of life he provides without inscrutability. What further sets Robbins apart from the deluge of pineal can openers is that he camps not at the top of the mountain with the gurus of impenetrability, nor in the valley in the shadow of self-help. Avoiding the wholly holy and the soulless, he camps at the middle slope and proceeds to whip out a Hibachi to cook up cream of intuition soup. He brings the checkered moments of human existence full vividness and inherent futility. As described in his new book, Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates (2000), people may be at the second story window of a burning building, but if they enjoy the view, then the inferno is forgotten in rapture. Invalids is a Mobius strip juxtaposing Switters with the CIA, his hacker grandmother, her Matisse blue nude, and desert nuns carrying the Lady of Fatima's secret prophecy. The book heralded future's horns because although it was written before the papacy divulged the Third Fatima secret, Invalids tells different secrets that are a favorite Robbins' theme: pyramid energy. Yes, the plot beckons, the visuals entrance, the books beg to make a cerebral cocktail. They do vivacious neural belly dances, glimmer like a Sutra jewel, and generally hint of candy, laughter, and ability to ray-gun consciousness to a place of sacred musk and sacrilegious ecstasy. Pulling heartstrings and beating humor's drums, they create symphonies of such purity it can ultimately be felt, whether purposely or not, as waves of music dancing around a grandiose conductor's baton. |
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Blather Bookstore: Still Life With Woodpecker How To Write Like Tom Robbins Basking Robbins: An interview With Tom Robbins Dave Edelman Review: Half Asleep In Frog Pajamas Fools, Frog Pajamas And Tom Robbins Still Life With Woodpecker: Biographical Excerpts The Third Fatima Prophecy Random House Interview Tom Robbins' Ode To Redheads The AFTRlife Salon People: Tom Robbins January Magazine Interview With Tom Robbins Here In Geoduck Station: Finding A Home Among The Migrants, Mavericks, & Mutants Of The Pacific Northwest Disinformation Dossier On The CIA Fights For The Right To Violate Human Rights Disinformation Dossier On Dr. John Cunningham Lilly Disinformation Dossier On R.U. Sirius Disinformation Dossier On Robert Anton Wilson Disinformation Dossier On Terence McKenna Disinformation Dossier On Timothy Leary Disinformation Dossier On William S. Burroughs Disinformation Dossier On Discordianism: A Religion Disguised As A Joke Disguised As A Religion Disinformation Dossier On The 23 Enigma: Captain Clark Welcomes You Aboard! Tom Robbins: My Life And Work |
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