He hadn't written anything in nearly a year. No. That wasn't entirely true. He had written something. Many somethings. Many somethings tantamount to nothing. They were no more than writing exercises. He would start with an idea, a wonderful idea, a brilliant beginning and it would go nowhere after a day. His flirtatious romance with inspiration was just that. His obsession with her kept him in withdrawal when she left and his sense of direction deteriorated. In his languor, he wondered why he kept to such deleterious circumstances. And then, she returned.
This is a repost of my entry in the WPC Theme: Books. I don't like posting "oems", though I'm rather partial to sing-songy assonance and consonance.
I'm thinking of entering the the ASC again just to mess around with the theme. It's rooster time! (And the rooster was pretty lame. No one say anything about it if they happen to figure it out.)
in College
in College I was asked this Q and in the text I found the A
but if the Old Man died while he dreamt of lions or if the mouse who lived had ever found Margalo I will never know
I find it amusing how I never use some of the words outside of writing, yet they come so freely with hiccups every now and then as I grasp for almost forgotten words.
Knowing the Unknown
The thing of it is is that if this is any good, then someone will say, "It's good". Then the discerning mind will dismiss it as, "No, he doesn't no what he's talking about." If it is in any way poignant and incisive, then there is nothing tantamount to unadulterated provocation of thoughtful reaction, barring any mental triggers, of course, to which the discerning mind would then dismiss as fanaticism. It is not a matter of finding your audience, but rather the matter situated upon the terms of knowing your audience and the notions under which they gather. And then, perhaps, in supplement of poignancy and incisiveness, it is all the more easy to looks smarter than one truly is. And in digression, I have entirely missed my point. It is not a matter of tangible response that one may require for positive reinforcement, but one which rests upon the intangible that lies within the mind. What then would it matter without the tangible if one becomes more than a blink of the eye in the mind of another? Instantaneous gratification of the ego. (Or shall I say id?)
I could say something about that (^), but I won't.
However, I could append to the following, but I'll let you figure out what could come next.
[b]Attack of the Venusians[b]
--There's one more thing I have to warn you about. Are you listening? --Uh, yes. --You must not let them get in here, he said, tapping his temple. --Why not? --Once they get in, you've lost. There is no way of getting them out. --No way? --No way. Once it's done, you're done. --Not even brain surgery?
He nearly knocked me off my seat with a smack to the back of my head.
Would Knowing the Unknown become Knowing the known if one is said to have known an unknown therefore if an unknown x is known as 2 then it is known but if x is known as an unknown then all that is said the be knowing the unknown is false unless that is the knowledge sought but alas we are at fault cause truth can be wrought with a hint of unknown and there for it can be thought the truth is a lie but it is not unless the knowing of the unknown changes the truth.
That is absurd without considering the meaning idiomatically and elliptically.
To quote myself:
There were known knowns, known unknowns, and unknown unknowns, but the deviant deals in unknown knowns, at least unknown to non-deviants. The deviant takes nothing for granted but plays with those base assumptions, carefully manipulating others. Holding up all the cards for all to see, the deviant observes not what cards are chosen but how the cards are chosen.
I rolled over as soon as I saw "Derrida" in that mix, and mentally earmaked this page as "to be read at some indeterminate point in the future" :P
Noooooooooooooooooooooo!
You know... I don't get how you can understand Derrida and have modal philosophy do you in. That's... preposterous!
Ambivalence
In a pseudo-mystical way, he could've said he didn't know. But he did know. We all knew he did, but that devious gleam in his eyes, a truly devious gleam, was all the spark necessary for people to go harumphing about their daily routine. That was all that mattered. Some part of everyone wondered if he was right, but they stuck to their convictions. Wondering is what gave people anxiety and anxiety was what gave people ulcers. There was no point waffling about. You either wait for the bus or you start walking. The elderly and the young and the old but not frail, they weren't going to walk. If you're going to stick around, you might as well convince yourself that what you've done was right and not care about anything else. No one hated him. They envied him for his wayward nonchalance.
For me, he happens to be one of those people (like Joyce) where interpretations are better (or rather, easier to understand) than the real thing. It's no surprise some people call his ideas utter BS.
(Actually, for Joyce, one needed more cultural breadth to fully understand and enjoy all aspects of all his works. It is also my contention that without Joyce, specifically Finnegans Wake, Derrida would've been of no importance. I will not debate this point, as it is a matter of conviction until it is proven otherwise.)
I actually (vaguely) see where you're coming from re: Finnegans Wake. I thought I'd pick up Ulysses to see if I could make ANY sense of it, but gave up when I realised that to understand the book in terms even approaching Joyce's intention I would have to become a classics scholar.
Meanwhile, the rest of the world utters a contemptuous "Continental!" and resumes normal programming.
I thought I'd just start this for the sake of starting this. Retrospect is always better.
Thematic Representations: Time Refer to:ASC Theme: Time, (Can I still be disqualified if I mention the WPC theme?)
I haven't seen an entry that Wow-ed me since Purple Injection. Anyone with any recollection of that theme *nudge* knows what I'm talking about. The theme of Time was one that was so open, like the Dreams theme, but so closed at the same time. Disappointment followed the lack of entries but what was more disappointing was that it was all a series of iterations of the same idea. The changes were basic at best and I found the WPC version much more refreshing (though I flirted with the rules since I couldn't win anyway :P). I don't entirely know what I would've done with this theme in the ASC, since I haven't had a good idea since Four in a Row, which I still plan to complete (another puzzle, no less). It may've been less direct but quintessentially derivative. Perhaps it's too difficult to break out of the box when things in the box are taken for granted. I have pockets, I use them, and they mean nothing to me.
It is quiet tonight and even the air that surges above the city lights is silent. One by one the lights wink out and the stars shine brighter on this starry night. Grouped in clusters it is as if watching a disintegrated moon fall apart in a swath across the black velvet sky. Your breath condenses in front of you as you walk along, listening to her footsteps. The vapor dissipates but it remains as one of those little things from childhood as a reminder of when everything was fun, just as it is now as she steps, as she steps, as she steps. Half is this is but a dream and the other half a fancy, but half of it is as real as it gets. The space between now and then and now and who-knows-when is almost impressionistic.
--Yes, lardfish. Large muckers genetically engineered to produce large amounts of lard. About upwards to 85% of their body mass. And, yes when I say genetically engineered, it is by the same man who created the mutant chicken. "Mutant chicken" is a misnomer really, but you can't help public opinion. Still it's creation was a terrible day, but lardfish are 100% completely safe.
--Have you ever had of filet lardon? 12 ounces of pan-fried earthly delight. Tastes just like a slab of pan-seared pork belly without the stringy meat and chewy skin. Falls apart right in the mouth like the perfect steamed fish. you should try it.
--A mucker? Oh, you don't want to know. Trust me.
--Yes, we're raising fish in a water treatment plant.
