Source: Vamps and Tramps (1994), "No Law in the Arena: A Pagan Theory of Sexuality", p. 67
Context: Pornography is art, sometimes harmonious, sometimes dissonant. Its glut and glitter are a Babylonian excess. Modern middle-class women cannot bear the thought that their hard-won professional achievements can be outweighed in an instant by a young hussy flashing a little tits and ass. But the gods have given her power, and we must welcome it. Pornography forces a radical reassessment of sexual value, nature’s bequest of our tarnished treasure.
“Dissonance is the truth about harmony.”
Henry Thomas & Dana Lee Thomas Living Biographies of Great Composers (Garden City (NY): Blue Ribbon, [1940] 1946) p. 309.
Said in 1907, in conversation with Gustav Mahler.
“Rest springs from strife and dissonant chords beget
Divinest harmonies.”
Love's Suicide, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
Quote in Kandinsky's letter to Arnold Schönberg, 18 Jan. 1911; as cited in Schonberg and Kandinsky: An Historic Encounter, by Klaus Kropfinger; edited by Konrad Boehmer; published by Routledge (imprint of Taylor & Francis, an informal company), 2003, p. 9
1910 - 1915
“Art doesn't always mirror life and life's hard sometimes.”
From "The Diary of Billy Talent":
“But fantasy kills imagination, pornography is death to art.”
The Message to the Planet (1989) p. 43.
http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/features/alan-moore-the-reluctant-hero-64407.html
The Syntax of Sorcery (2012)
Context: Certain individual words do possess more pitch, more radiance, more shazam! than others, but it's the way words are juxtaposed with other words in a phrase or sentence that can create magic. Perhaps literally. The word "grammar," like its sister word "glamour," is actually derived from an old Scottish word that meant "sorcery." When we were made to diagram sentences in high school, we were unwittingly being instructed in syntax sorcery, in wizardry. We were all enrolled at Hogwarts. Who knew?
When a culture is being dumbed down as effectively as ours is, its narrative arts (literature, film, theatre) seem to vacillate between the brutal and the bland, sometimes in the same work. The pervasive brutality in current fiction – the death, disease, dysfunction, depression, dismemberment, drug addiction, dementia, and dreary little dramas of domestic discord – is an obvious example of how language in exploitative, cynical or simply neurotic hands can add to the weariness, the darkness in the world. Less apparent is that bland writing — timid, antiseptic, vanilla writing – is nearly as unhealthy as the brutal and dark. Instead of sipping, say, elixir, nectar, tequila, or champagne, the reader is invited to slurp lumpy milk or choke on the author's dust bunnies.
