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Tao Lin Talks Taipei
The interview below was conducted in the wee hours of the morning (from 1 to 4 AM) on the bed of Tao Lin, in his apartment on the east side of Manhattan, with a small party going on in the other corner of the room. Tao and I later tightened a few things up through email. This is the first, definitive interview with the author after finishing his novel, Taipei, which will be released this spring from Vintage.
—-
PART I: ANNE SEXTON
VICE: Were you happier before, during, or after writing Taipei?Tao Lin: I think… after.
After?Yeah.
Why?During… I got into a routine of doing like 80 to 120 milligrams of Adderall and not sleeping for like 36 hours. Then using Xanax or Klonopin and eating, then sleeping for like 12 hours, or not sleeping another night and using more Adderall. Which mostly felt bad, like a constant state of desperation, thinking the novel was incoherent. And I would have days without Adderall, so that it would still work, but it gradually worked less—and on those days I would just eat and use Percocet or whatever I had and be zombielike, then sleep. Wait, did you say you didn’t want drugs in this?
Well, I was saying maybe we won’t mention them since we’ve done that so much already but it doesn’t matter. What were you reading while writing Taipei?I was rereading Fernando Pessoa and Schopenhauer. I had eBooks of different editions of their stuff on my iPhone. I mostly read eBooks off my iPhone. I remember reading Elizabeth Wurtzel’s memoir, More, Now, Again, about her trying to write a book while using a lot of Ritalin and feeling interested because it was like what I was doing. Except she was writing a nonfiction book and rich enough to move to Florida to focus on her book. I was writing an autobiographical novel and borrowing from strangers on Twitter. When she described her worst times, like going into a shopping mall and feeling insane from Ritalin, I was like, “shit, that’s… normal, for me.”
When would you read? Before you wrote?Mostly after. Like when I couldn’t work anymore and wanted to be asleep but my heart would be beating really fast. I remember thinking I was probably going to die of a heart attack… and [long pause] another book I read… it was a biography about… what’s that poet who killed herself?
Sylvia Plath?The other one.
It’s a famous one? I don’t know.Well, I read her biography and it was really depressing. She was committing suicide but not dying, and people were afraid to be genuine with her because anything might cause another suicide attempt. But people were afraid that she might sense them being not genuine… so it was just, like, impossible to be her friend. Then she finally killed herself. Reading was kind of my form of social interaction for like a year. I hung out like once a month, like I’d go to an event with you, but mostly had no IRL interactions.
Can you think of any books that directly affected the writing you did for Taipei?For a while, because I felt like horrible about everything I was writing, whenever I read anything—even things by me, from my other books—I’d be like “that seems good, I should do it like that.” And desperately try to change the tone and prose style of my entire book, while viewing it as an unfixable piece of shit, compared to whatever I’d just read. I remember reading half a sentence of a Gore Vidal novel, like the first five words, and closing the book and feeling convinced that I must rewrite my novel in the tone and style of the five words I had just read… I was in a constant state of desperation about what choices to make in my book, except for like the two hours each day when I was peaking on Adderall. I used ecstasy a few times when I didn’t have Adderall, to get into a mental state where everything didn’t seem horrible.
Why write at all?Well, I’ll talk about this book: why did I write this book. I was just barely making enough money… I don’t remember how. Oh, probably mostly off royalty checks every six months, and writing for Thought Catalog and other places, and selling art. The checks were getting smaller every time, and I think, at some point, Richard Yates and Bed became unavailable on Amazon and currently still are unavailable, except as eBooks, which I think means those books are out-of-print, so not in bookstores. So I was going to need to do something for money. I emailed Bill Clegg, who had reviewed Richard Yates positively for Amazon, and asked if he would be interested in trying to sell 20 pages and an outline of my next novel, and he was, and he did. So I got one-third of a $50,000 advance, and a timeframe, to write my third novel.
You know how certain writers are like, “I have to write. If I didn’t write, I’d die.” Do you feel that? That if you couldn’t write you’d die?No, I never got that. I’ve never gotten the thing like “it’s a voice inside of me” or when writers say they start with an image, then try to figure out what it means, and like the image just “came to them,” so they really want to find out what it means… I’ve never related to that. And I think I view myself as always writing, like nonstop, because I view thinking and talking—because they use language, the same language as writing—as forms of writing.
Do you have another book contract?No.
How much money would it have to be for?Not that much, I don’t think.
Like not as much as you were paid for this one?If someone were offering $50,000 for another novel, I’d do it. I would like that.
Continue](http://24.media.tumblr.com/1982e43c7b7f1689071d5ca3e4c4b2b5/tumblr_mg4d4llbPt1qzikspo1_500.jpg)
The interview below was conducted in the wee hours of the morning (from 1 to 4 AM) on the bed of Tao Lin, in his apartment on the east side of Manhattan, with a small party going on in the other corner of the room. Tao and I later tightened a few things up through email. This is the first, definitive interview with the author after finishing his novel, Taipei, which will be released this spring from Vintage.
—-
PART I: ANNE SEXTON
VICE: Were you happier before, during, or after writing Taipei?
Tao Lin: I think… after.After?
Yeah.Why?
During… I got into a routine of doing like 80 to 120 milligrams of Adderall and not sleeping for like 36 hours. Then using Xanax or Klonopin and eating, then sleeping for like 12 hours, or not sleeping another night and using more Adderall. Which mostly felt bad, like a constant state of desperation, thinking the novel was incoherent. And I would have days without Adderall, so that it would still work, but it gradually worked less—and on those days I would just eat and use Percocet or whatever I had and be zombielike, then sleep. Wait, did you say you didn’t want drugs in this?Well, I was saying maybe we won’t mention them since we’ve done that so much already but it doesn’t matter. What were you reading while writing Taipei?
I was rereading Fernando Pessoa and Schopenhauer. I had eBooks of different editions of their stuff on my iPhone. I mostly read eBooks off my iPhone. I remember reading Elizabeth Wurtzel’s memoir, More, Now, Again, about her trying to write a book while using a lot of Ritalin and feeling interested because it was like what I was doing. Except she was writing a nonfiction book and rich enough to move to Florida to focus on her book. I was writing an autobiographical novel and borrowing from strangers on Twitter. When she described her worst times, like going into a shopping mall and feeling insane from Ritalin, I was like, “shit, that’s… normal, for me.”When would you read? Before you wrote?
Mostly after. Like when I couldn’t work anymore and wanted to be asleep but my heart would be beating really fast. I remember thinking I was probably going to die of a heart attack… and [long pause] another book I read… it was a biography about… what’s that poet who killed herself?Sylvia Plath?
The other one.It’s a famous one? I don’t know.
Well, I read her biography and it was really depressing. She was committing suicide but not dying, and people were afraid to be genuine with her because anything might cause another suicide attempt. But people were afraid that she might sense them being not genuine… so it was just, like, impossible to be her friend. Then she finally killed herself. Reading was kind of my form of social interaction for like a year. I hung out like once a month, like I’d go to an event with you, but mostly had no IRL interactions.Can you think of any books that directly affected the writing you did for Taipei?
For a while, because I felt like horrible about everything I was writing, whenever I read anything—even things by me, from my other books—I’d be like “that seems good, I should do it like that.” And desperately try to change the tone and prose style of my entire book, while viewing it as an unfixable piece of shit, compared to whatever I’d just read. I remember reading half a sentence of a Gore Vidal novel, like the first five words, and closing the book and feeling convinced that I must rewrite my novel in the tone and style of the five words I had just read… I was in a constant state of desperation about what choices to make in my book, except for like the two hours each day when I was peaking on Adderall. I used ecstasy a few times when I didn’t have Adderall, to get into a mental state where everything didn’t seem horrible.Why write at all?
Well, I’ll talk about this book: why did I write this book. I was just barely making enough money… I don’t remember how. Oh, probably mostly off royalty checks every six months, and writing for Thought Catalog and other places, and selling art. The checks were getting smaller every time, and I think, at some point, Richard Yates and Bed became unavailable on Amazon and currently still are unavailable, except as eBooks, which I think means those books are out-of-print, so not in bookstores. So I was going to need to do something for money. I emailed Bill Clegg, who had reviewed Richard Yates positively for Amazon, and asked if he would be interested in trying to sell 20 pages and an outline of my next novel, and he was, and he did. So I got one-third of a $50,000 advance, and a timeframe, to write my third novel.You know how certain writers are like, “I have to write. If I didn’t write, I’d die.” Do you feel that? That if you couldn’t write you’d die?
No, I never got that. I’ve never gotten the thing like “it’s a voice inside of me” or when writers say they start with an image, then try to figure out what it means, and like the image just “came to them,” so they really want to find out what it means… I’ve never related to that. And I think I view myself as always writing, like nonstop, because I view thinking and talking—because they use language, the same language as writing—as forms of writing.Do you have another book contract?
No.How much money would it have to be for?
Not that much, I don’t think.Like not as much as you were paid for this one?
If someone were offering $50,000 for another novel, I’d do it. I would like that.
(via 19841979)
“…if art is anything, then it is, to me, that which is created in the attempted absence of illusions, that which doesn’t instruct because its creator while creating it doesn’t know what’s good or bad, only that he/she wants to convey something.”
Tao Lin, “Does the Novel Have a Future? The Answer Is In This Essay!”(Source: jordancastro)
A SEVENTY-MINUTE INTERVIEW WITH SAM PINK ON GCHAT
Sam Pink is the author, among other books, of two novels, Person (2010) and The No Hellos Diet (2011); a story-collection, Hurt Others (2010); and a collection of aphorism-like things, No One Can Do Anything Worse to You Than You Can (2012). I recommend all these books. Person’s back-cover description: “You see him at the liquor store. You see him at the bus stop, trying to look at you without being seen. Who is he? He is a person.” I remember reading Person without stopping but while moving around. I started on the train, I think, and kept reading while walking ten blocks from Union Square to Think Coffee, where I sat and finished the book before going to the library. If forced to describe Person in five words I would say “emotional, funny, interesting, stimulating, exciting.” You can read an excerpt here. You can read stories from Hurt Others here and here. The following is a Gchat interview. It was edited by deleting ~40 percent of it.
PROLOGUE
Me: Hey.
Sam: Hey man.Me: Sam?
Sam: Hey1:02 PM
Sam: I’m finna go invizz.
Sam: It has been done.1:04 PM
Sam: Hey.
Me: Hey.‘BOTTOM LINE’
Sam: Can there be a ‘bottom line’ segment?
Me: Bottom line, yeah, that sounds good.1:06 PM
Me: When you want to do that just tell me.
Me: And I’ll go right into it.PART 1: AGE/LOCATION
Me: How old were you when you wrote Person?
Sam: I think 26 to 27.
Sam: Maybe a little 25.1:07 PM
Me: Has your mom read it?
Sam: I’m not sure.Me: Do you have siblings?
Sam: Yes. Two brothers.Me: Where are you right now?
Sam: I’m in a living room in Humboldt Park, sitting on the wooden floor with my legs crossed.1:08 PM
Me: You’re in a park, or is ‘Humboldt Park’ like a café or something?
Sam: Humboldt Park is a neighborhood.1:09 PM
Sam: Bottom line: Humboldt Park: a neighborhood, not café.BOTTOM LINE: “HUMBOLDT PARK: A NEIGHBORHOOD, NOT CAFE”
Me: I see what you mean by ‘bottom line’ now.
Sam: Bottom line: he gets it.BOTTOM LINE: “HE GETS IT”
Me: When that happens, you just go ahead and type ‘bottom line’: etc. I’ll format it later.
Sam: I hear it spoken in my head when I write it.1:10 PM
Me: Nice.
Me: Have you done that in some other interview, the ‘bottom line’ thing?
Sam: Not sure
Sam: It feels like I have.Me: I think you did it in the video thing, the vlog, with Jordan and Noah and them, right?
Sam: Yeah Jordan likes the segments too.PART 2: MDA
Sam: We took some MDA you sent Jordan.
Sam: I remember being like, “I’m really fucked up.”
Sam: Then having intense hallucinations with my eyes closed.
Me: You looked like a normal functioning human.
Me: Like a mediocre guest on Oprah.PART 3: HOSTESS FRUIT PIE (1/2)
Me: What sentence do you think of first when you read “what sentence is most memorable of what you’ve written to you”?
Sam: Just imagined myself forcing a ‘Hostess fruit pie’ into my forehead.Me: While reading that I kept wanting it to say “into your mouth.”
Sam: Not sure. I read one while working on something the other day and I thought that.1:23 PM
Me: Can you try to remember it?
Me: Or any part of it?1:26 PM
Sam: I can’t remember the exact sentence I thought that about, but I remember a lesser one about someone headbutting a cat and the sound it makes when the foreheads hit.
Sam: And the person saying “hyuhh” as they did it.Me: Nice. So someone headbutts a cat in the cat’s head?
Below is the second installment of Tao Lin and Giancarlo DiTrapano’s texting history that began during the summer of 2011 with the infamous, ground-breaking “Andrew,” which has been hailed as both “total shit” and “the best internet writing of 2011.” Some texts were altered to save the reputations of the peripherally involved parties.
Jun 28 2011
Giancarlo: The past 6 times I have texted ‘Andrew’ he responds with “RE:|Okay” Seems like a DealerBot
(via 19841979)
“Although each human’s world of noumenon is unique and private–direct access by others is impossible–the world of noumenon is theorized, or hoped, it seems, by most religions and philosophies, to be actually a oneness within which we become isolated when we take on physical form and enter concrete reality, which, like a virtual world, is a shared space in which we can communicate our worlds of noumenon with others, if we want to and at our leisure, until we return to the oneness upon death. It’s unknown why we don’t exist only in the world of noumenon but are forced to endure, or perhaps gifted–though vaguely, almost mischievously–an amount of time, between birth and death, in concrete reality.”
Does the Novel Have a Future? The Answer Is In This Essay! | Observer by Tao Lin
(via bicycleklub)
“‘Oversharing’ is a value-laden term, its message being that whatever’s termed as such has crossed some subjective line in the sand, one that denotes ‘appropriate sharing’ from ‘sharing too much.’ The word seems very Puritan and culturally-oppressive to me. And I think it’s becoming redundant at this point. The reality of the internet generation — the generation that will eventually control much of the cultural context — is simply that, as pretty much all previous modern generations, they want to draw their own boundaries. They want to create a world in which they’re OK, and will eventually do so by establishing new norms via continually exerting their influence. The group of people who have contentions with so-called oversharers only seem to want to censor them via shaming, ridicule, and tribal exclusionary behavior. The majority of the group is not positive, useful, or constructive at all.”
Brandon Scott Gorrell via What Is Viralism? An Inquiry Into Culture’s Battle For Digital Space(Source: thoughtcatalog)
person in India searched “xxx.xxxx.xxx.nudephotos” and found a ~12k-word story w/ no images
“It just seems like the world is heavy. That it is like a big cement monster that is crushing me, that is pummeling me with scorpion claws, stinging me, biting me alive, throwing bricks at my head, slamming cinder blocks on my nuts, eating me, showing me that I am worthless, that my life on this planet is a futile little pile of meat that ends in immobility, death, then sent underground with a shitty tombstone that doesn’t signify who I was, what I was about. It just states my name, year of birth and day of death. I don’t feel lucky at all to be alive.”
The Insurgent by Noah Cicero“
I should win an award for self-destruction, self-mutilation, and self-loathing.
The award will be presented by Tom Cruise. There will be an audience of several million. Tom Cruise will say, “And now the award for the most self-loathing human alive, goes to Vasily Krymov.”
I will walk up on the stage.
The crowd will roar with applause.
Tom Cruise will hand me the award.
I will give my thank you speech, “I would like to thank my father and mother for always showing me that they hated me since I was born. I would like to thank that Cossack for shooting me when I was six, and thank God for forsaking me.”
I don’t believe in God, but it is always important to thank God in those types of speeches.
Tom Cruise will stand behind me chuckling to himself and he will say under his breath, “Fucking loser.”
I will hear him say, “Fucking loser.” And think of it as positive reinforcement that I am fucking worthless and should be shot for crimes against those who have ambition and a desire for the Good Life.
” The Insurgent by Noah Cicero
