Freud on Dali's Bicycle

What a great pleasure it is for me to be invited by my good friends Le Bon David and the VeloDrone to write a series of articles for Velosophy! Today my subject is The Bicycle and Salvador Dali.

Now, the internet abounds in photographs of Dali's bicycles. These bicycles lean with buckled wheels against picturesque walls, as amusing references to Dali's famous melting clocks. Dali's melting clocks were intended by him to represent the irrelevance of time.

Dali came to see me often in the early days, although this fact is nowhere on the public record. Indeed, why should it be? The relationship between a man and his psychoanalyst is a private affair.

My work on dreams had influenced him profoundly. It was the basis for the movement known as Surrealism, of which he was a leading light. He told me he dreamed of ants, of lions' heads, of fish hooks and of half-opened drawers.

My friend, I told him, these things represent your fears. The ants represent death, the lion's head represents both sexual desire and your fear of the aggression of your father. The fish hook represents family ties, which you are unable to escape, while the half-opened drawer represents female sexuality, of which you are afraid.

Then I shall paint these things until I conquer all my fears, he said grandly.

That is all very well, my friend, but what you really need is a hobby, I told him. Have you ever thought about getting a bicycle?

From that moment Dali became obsessed with bicycles. He painted them incessantly. He painted men in bowler hats on bicycles, men with umbrellas on bicycles, lobsters on bicycles. He bought himself a bicycle. He kept it in his studio, although he never rode it.

He began to dream of bicycles. He asked me what these dreams might signify.

You are going on a journey, I told him.

We had a great debate about the matter. He thought my interpretation was banal. We argued for hours quite heatedly. Eventually I had to tell him that his time was up.

Time! he shouted. Time is irrelevant!

You will not think so when you receive my bill, I said.

He stormed out.

It was immediately after this I believe he dreamed up the story about seeing my bicycle, the red hotwater bottle and the snail, which has plagued me ever since.

The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat

The Hungarrian hung up soon after that. Perhaps he was offended.

But the hat, which was a pork pie hat, really had looked as though it was enjoying itself. It was tucked into the crack at the back of the seat, which resulted in its brim being slightly elevated, giving the impression that it was smiling. Or so I thought, when I looked at it. A musical hat. you see them sometimes.

Musical umbrellas now, you see a lot of those. They come to the concerts and they cry and cry, particularly if it's been raining. Their tears run down the floorboards all the way to the front of the stage. Pathetic really. But then, they don't get out much.

In the cold weather we notice a lot of musical coats. They usually have a seat to themselves, and they fold themselves up small and really concentrate on the music. But they never clap, because they never enjoy it, because they have cloth ears.

I've seen a few musical pencils over the years as well. They don't appear to like music very much at all. They sometimes make a show of tapping in time but usually they just doodle, or catch up on their homework.

Once there was, to my certain knowledge, under one of the seats, a musical quiche.....

Come on Bela! You believe me don't you?

Australia Day

It was Australia Day on the 26th of January. Pliny and Nostradamus went to an Australia Day BYO picnic at Alex's dad and mum's place in Aldgate in the Adelaide Hills.

They didn't really know anyone except Alex, who must have forgotten that he had never invited them to one of these picnics before. The picnics are an institution, Alex had said.

It was hot and everyone was sitting under large umbrellas under the trees. The very old people who were the greatest in number, sat talking of who knows what.

Children ran around and got dirty feet and and hid behind delightful trees and in garden crevices, where there were fairies.

The mums and dads sat under different umbrellas eating melons and talking of who knows what, probably finances.

The rest of the people were makers of porn movies and films of violence, or editors of adult comics. Pliny and Nostradamus had to sit with them. The conversation was interesting enough but Pliny and Nostradmus had little to contribute, not knowing much about any of those things nor even who was up for this year's Oscars.

They were glad of the diversion when the entertainment began. This consisted of the old persons one after another getting up on to a chicken coop to recite a poem or sing a good old Aussie anthem, or just have a rant about the drought. There was much applause, particularly for Alex's dad who had written his own piece and was wearing a hat with corks around the brim.