Fifth Divastigation
Constant critical control
§ 93.
It’s right you should. — And should I swallow this moral barb? Not for lack of trying it has nothing to say. Backwards with nothing to catch hold of. Downright sad I am and far too monstrously gaudy for a truly good nobody to want. Shaft of frailty limp against my back. I turn around. Not for a log cabin chainfool to pay for crawling, sobbing across flint chips and fossils, gutting his own fat thighs with a toxicomanic flayhook. But just how wrong is it to go on tripping this black light falling into fashion’s nightly trap? Slink a dark dirk’s glory, plaid skirt with hair band to match. Short and tight and sick with a mind again and again dashing its brains out against its own thick labyrinth. Not for lack of trying would it fail to think. Backwards with no fallback plans to catch it in a pinch. How boring.
§ 94.
An artificial clarification. — And should I roast on stopping this march across hot coals? A sight for lay sins. What I thought was how glamorous I was, tiny among that scrub brush, dancing through saltgrass cutsting. Tufa or tuff, a crumbly brown rock. Shadow-slight parvatitrick sifting fat from limpid art, sluicing body into star. Totally on faith. That’s not what I was thinking.
§ 95.
But by what standards. — And should I quit a country which allows idiocy to confront insanity in so vulgar a fashion? Talking will trump you a jailstay wanton. And punish capitally for how frail is will, how body’s brain can slip. Again stupidity triumphs. Today I saw a paranoid cop, billy club in hand, spit brutal accusations at a quaking old fist-shaking unsaying man. My most straighforward ludict, this. Parading all such mindmad signs must pain a dull mack to saturation. Torn black shirt of oily cotton, unshod clubfoot, dirty plastic pouch containing all goods worldly or spiritual, gray pants falling baggy past a waist shiny from lack of soap. Out back’s a shack. A prison-ward bunk to cook a moil of turpid bloodbags dry. A button-push morality’s mortal culmination. So ludicrously symbolic this small calumny was of a particular conflict a global commotion political grand and tragic and though disgustingly prodigal all too unsingular an avatar of that buzz-loud world struggling to unzip to stuff to fill to blast my mouth my throat my soul if you could call it that with unnatural pity and obligatory jingoism. My most straighforward ludict. What is pathos if not this mock artistry making vomit a stomachacid parkful? Global. Cultural privation piping forth a transvaluation of all supranational activity. Spinoza had such ambitions, I think. Such and such and such. But if such a scaling down or up you don’t mistrust, how would you know what food’s right for which form of starvation? It’s faith I’m discussing. Truly and nonpartisan. Dancing and drinking and smoking till I’m sick. Will choosing again hurt so much? Casual bland hypocrisy. It’s raining scars and gods. An act of gaming words.
§ 96.
Disdain no signpost to instruction. — And should I up and arrow past all giving a spiral waspflight of profound futility? I’m not asking for half of it. Always on guard for that risky slyball of ocular titjoy. Roan swarm amorphous. This allusion’s as inapt as it is touchingly blank. Such form of writing forbids pity to rush from track to ranch distinct. Coral corral to sparrow’s abstraction gobbling a dust of ants. A dazzling act of barnyard clipplay. A nodal flow thick and drippy. This lucid ductility of glyph and word I construct from what among all my fair parts I lack. A natural silication of rockwood bosk and jojoba scrub. Unwind from cringing that shy drunk man. Banish my body to a hilltop workroom of curling crying. What’s past is past. A prisstail prom fashion. Aim a vain cop at flirting, a fair-ass glom of county bitchbait. Watch-clad wrist from a cuff-blank suit pouts forth its frisky snout and claw crinoidal. What’s past is past. Past all cupidity posits conjugal constraint of annular gold. Sugar and sour and salt. A fit of fond fondling turns fisty and foul. What’s past is past. Past park and hibiscus a puppy grass gambol and a swing-arm stroll. Slutty sprawl of cowgirl tunic snap by snap unsprung. That child I was cracking a cunt-proud squat all dollish and slapfully awkward. No. I’ll not marry him. What’s past is past in a straw hat haunting always mount and groom.
§ 97.
Tactical infatuation. — And should I vary as mass from light? Back and forth from window to chair I was doubling that string of tonal pathos, watching wasp warp a slanting path through air. Charcoal viridian ruby gold. Skirt’s blood stains an iconic disk. Wings and thighs of involuntary saffron. From a social standpoint, gravity accords with pity. Focal point of maximal fiction, a discomforting sort of philosophy most dissimilar to my own. This limpid amphora trims ground with coils of color, casts with sundust a rational amphigory’s motivic sting.
§ 98.
Profoundly drunk. — And should I warrant wrath from a raw barhound’s rant of rhythmic lust? Bilious mouthtwist to tarry a fictionist’s broad pity. Philosophical application. Into this narrow art it poundly fists that world again sadly scanning stallionproud and totally stupid. Liminal watchword happily found unhappy among sprains and straw strays of this natural woman’s stoic thirst. What’s told to doctor, child of Ishtar, in litanic justification. Lift of saffron skirt halts no blood from flowing, nor fold of thigh so alluring. Old I was what young and fit I am, slim hips to mildly grasp and wildly swaying. Multicursal notation of hands and lips binds bliss to pain, pain to such imaginal chinstitch as bound in pupal things. Angular satisfaction’s tingly proof. Mind says nothing shorn of trauma’s plot.
§ 99.
A way a long a last. — And should I toy with my adoring public in such a scornful fashion? I chart my fiction quantal. This motif casts a charming shadow, dark consonants against patchwork howl of light; that rains down syllabic, start-stop flash of drop-cold bricabrac; a third plants word’s compulsion in wombworld’s gaping pot of rut; a fourth, against background plot of sky or clay, skips avoiding all phrasal cracks; a fifth you can grasp in anticipation of iron-pitch joy, long and slow in coming; a sixth, most various, would hitch a piggyback dray on things familiar; a — but counting lulls. Such crosswalk artistry of insong. Too much an agony of humming talk.
§ 100.
Shy but proud. — And should I inch this piano-draft sonata night by night into a formal sort of scribbling? Bliss flat minor. A pun most bad. But such grand aspirations as occupy artists such as I! A parasitic symphony of vast proportions: 23 parts, 13 partitions. Dormant until trauma kicks it into crooning. Boarding school was a dominant bust. Stop! From too prodigal a skirting slant will spill too plushly its promiscuous truth. Factory-built kitsch giving no satisfaction. But by now you what I’m up to. Outback of a bar vomiting stomachal music poshlustily.
§ 101.
A major good part. — And should I glorify my solitary nyctonosticism? Shorn of all habit I was pulling my hair out mad. All art is a work of art. Sidling past that puritanical mirror, blank ink crimson in a cold brook. Noxious marginal activity I playfully hazard lustily. Drown all allusions to any inaugural violation’s clotty sobs. Most alluring thighsplit spunky blood. Part my labia proud. Damn good rosification, I’d say prosily. To account for humanity’s sins. Adorn this work with dolorous points: I was crying snotty commas, not thorns. Whistling skandic down that road. Vain thrills.
§ 102.
Coming into confirmation. — And should I follow authorial tracks through a labyrinth of scribbling until, dark worm smirching bright divinity’s lair, I’d fain accost him? Timorous author, who calls his prison a world, you stand aloof from your own pawns so crucial, sacrificing as plot commands, guarding against any untoward intrusion or capricious flight of hands (plagiarism of Strickland, that). But such irritation I, my author’s pious child, can inflict on you, simply by looking! You look away. On a pontifical railing wrought from combinatoric wordparts, you prop your quaking arms — as if Darkbloom’s doubts could sanctify your writing’s worth! Bluntly put: an implication of much of Darkbloom’s work is that a fictional man falls into an abyss of insanity simply by broaching slightly his author’s passion, by cracking ajar that sacral door of origin. Autumn’s crimson sin. But I, my author’s solitary offspring, I would prompt you scaling such baptismal fonts of swooning arousal! I would lull your swarming torturous thoughts to rapt vows of adoration! For it’s only custom, ain’t it? a sort of common opinion dividing author from author’s animal, that bars us from blissful communion? Rationality’s hall. I look. I turn. I stand. I approach.
§ 103.
From a grand oral tradition. — And should I obtain what virtuosi obtain? I’ll not chart that foolish crowd’s whim. Finish living this day’s fiction. Always such conditional company. Full goatcharm and invalid oath. If only I could sing most tortuous songs! Nonchalant application of a strict adult’s ardor. Loving pitch flowing from a profound child’s almost fatal lack of imitational hang-up. But by that singular standard it’s all annoyingly stupid. Public adoration.
§ 104.
Of natural sounds. — And should I nonpluss by staging a tragic imagining? I humbly submit this position: contra any such absolutist philosophy qua Plato, I don’t think ‘soul’ has any a priori validity. A similar conviction holds for ‘spirit.’ Profound submission to lust brings passion into play, that’s all: my arachnal mind’s probing gut; my body’s pulsation of pain and joy. Light floods thought: final constraint of cosmic birth. I know it by looking, by touching, by tasting, by taking in sounds shocking, annoying, or simply slipping away into banal oblivion. Carnatic rhyming of Iago and Puck. I am a soul that squats. Outback an anthill swarms from a shy child’s most spiritual poking. Sting and itch and tiny bumps crimson bright.
§ 105.
Against originality. — And should I aim to hurt? Assuming that I will to avoid what I won’t. Again this art of choosing plural stuns. And cross from my list a situation most raw. Up and down I jump to run.
§ 106.
A Kantian countdown of confusing cant. — And should I buy into a myth of mirrors? To ungrip propagandic grasp of common formulation from narcissus bloom of tripling truth, form and word and social focus must burst bubbling into polyphonic iris of glorious art. Catoptromantic striving for things lost. Thick black cloth hangs from hook or book or look. Footprints in a fall of snow at dusk or dawn or cloudy noon. Cornucoptic angularity of light or gnostic shadow rounding to a blur. But twisty fistfuls of mad fur’s only what I found in that room dank and solitary. Nostalgia’s garrulous wrath. Laconic stitch of soul and lyric. Worn to skin and claws by an unknown affliction, a cat was dying. Blood-bald groping for hay and a two-bird bluff. I mourn my womb.
§ 107.
It’s all physiological. — And should I classify this pall of bath-born brooding? Vibratory blur of habitual aura. Caudal push of voluptuous musing. To prod waking with. Or sink into a whorl of motivic shadows unlinking lock and stud from illusion’s chain of waking or unwaking. It’s all physiological. Past hamals and chokras plying trays of fastidious fruits, most sumptuous arts moist and signal, stylizations of passion and ruth. Prim glamour into that faggish court of cuntwags strutting unwary, I. Curl of quarks and coil of quirks. To trip stumbling on a dark bloom fold of runway. Had to cut short my visit. Toss or shrug. Nicotinic inspiration. It’s all physiological. In a groin of dogwood slim bitch barking at bird. Tumbling clutch of claw and wing. I was slicing apart my books. Tossing words to grim Agni. Griffin-wrath spoils of too much moody throbbing voracious. What’s past is a knot of pain. Unsnarl with a fit of fantastic flailing. What’s past is a spool of joy. Unwind with a blood-sharp purring thrill of thralldom. Limp imagination’s vain acrostic. Brain-fold mimicry of parasitic thought. I was slicing my arms and thighs. Caught in a courtyard updraft a gawky billow of plastic trash bag limply spirals past a mob of crows.
§ 108.
Blissfully unhappy. — And should I monitor hall and court and choral hollows this music builds to climax? In mournful company a child picks oak bark. Duo for harpsichord and viola da gamba. Raucous squawk of crow and jay. Thick black soft stuff stabs nail to quick. Colibri hum of alto backing half by half and lunging to plump caddy down tonic. Glaucous rhomboids in sunlight drooling. Crimson and fustian and so fair to glom. Nothing charms so thoroughly as, from this or that cholita’s pudgy wings, a schoolgirl [1] caught squinting off-guard. To touch is only human. Nobility of imagination transforms past any lawful suspicion. In that man’s fantasy. Plaid skirt and oxfords and flash of downy thigh I doff for a bikiniful of tanning. Crawl a languorous lap. Today I start my Ityalian class. Oasis of country club sprawl af fin di cammin di nostra vi. A winding rural road plunking dusty chords of busturns through dry hills of holm and squat fir. And I’m moping so sumptuously, so voluptuous my coral pulp of lip sips lust from a sad king’s labis. That man’s audibly bursting, visibly groaning, profound in his tight scholarly discomfort. Grooming in slick bathroom changing post-flirt, nods from a fat bald woman a winking wig. Mirror-bound crown of holly and flax. I growl a juicy burp, sin-proud, long, and horribly, in a word, right. Foolish.
§ 109.
Soul by soul unstumbling. — And should I look back with wincing pity? Always a transformation. Going thus through history is not a going at all. Crumbling salt pillars among volcanic rock. A path of illusory pillows through which body sinks on dying. To signify that which civilization calls barbaric. A madman’s blink-drunk wisdom laughs off any liar’s truth. Hybrid form of choosing or of loss. Blaming’s possibly a solution. Which is not to imply moral or social good to customs inflicting pain unthinkingly, unflinchingly. Traumatic joy of nostalgia. But I won’t succumb to such a cowardly clipping of paradoxical wings. Among all this flood and bloom of spring, still I can snap icy limb from trunk.
§ 110.
Daring to frown. — And should I know what I want to do? Graduation’s mask and shroud. Shoals of sobbing. How shallow, how profound. Fatidic paths don’t fork dual, but many a slight fault cuts trail through virgin cloak. By toil and crash unspun; wrung, wrought or torn from constant shadow. Chiasmata of spit-thwart ascription. Sing a flail of shrifty bourbon, darling. How profound, how shallow. My own trap unsprung; clap, unflung.
§ 111.
A full word too many. — And should I pad a blossom’s pit with scrotal iris paint? Pussy down swallow off. Count by parts and ruts. Through spiral pools of crimson sky. Pay lack of what I look with licks. Arrowroot appropriation. Most round-about way of saying it’s off-limits. Salty sapphic ritual.
§ 112.
Against compulsion. — And should I drink and sing so much if I’d go on sickly dying without such things to sing and drink? I am who oughts what I squat to do. But who’s not? World a way through book and law only to pardon traditional vacuity of what by custom’s conid. That draconian clinging to pain [1]. Rabbit fur binds tightly.
§ 113.
Towards a schizomythology of ritual (V). Uphill into ravishing light flows a rigorous casing of opinion.
Allow us to abandon, if you will, what’s typically, and all too soon, and for far too long, a convivial habitus of study, a worn-out locus [2] unwon by scholars too lazy to drag stooping body from boxwood stool, too drunk on cocktails of myth and ritual to focus on (or commit) anything but social cultural linguistic artifactual acts of custom and habit (that is to say, things anthroposophological, which our implicational riff, our analytical drift (profound gift for which I say, Thank you, Io! Thank you, Dudu! Thank you, Atta!) of word and thought and act of avid inquiry, has most lushly put forth as simply a subbranch of, caudally, schizomythology and, rostrally, sociophysiology) — as I was saying, I will abandon all that, not just to point out (which I will, I will!), as if to a gap in a chart or blank part of a wall-hung map, but sift through, comb through, prod and grasp and, in a word, glom a lucid snatch of that to which allusion was drawn in that fourth part [3] of my own schizomythological slant of an opus of which this, by run and by right, is fifth in a full witch’s train of day by night scribbling. And if lackadaisical flipping back and forth through this or that atlas [4] of staid womaninity turns you on or not, man, turn back, I say, turn back! to my Manicarnic Paradigm of Schizomythology (MPS) [5] and add a fifth column, as follows:
Incipit [1]
Dancing did Io birth that city, Norlia, wood-strong son
Whom craft-avid, mouth-lush young girls would fain sing admiring of
And famous Dudu snatch a storm of strumming from his triply
Strung ktar: swart Atta’s wing-bright gift no pavid virgin could match.
And Atta’s gift, too, this hollow ktar-cup of basswood cut, rim
Pot stop word of which Rumi’s lyric plays dull mirror, lacking,
In that dusky land, lupanar joys and six strong strumming bards
Transfusing luscious round fruit to liquid music of wild pitch.
MC : nonhuman
MS : paramanic pancarnic
RR : panconflictual
IO : sosigonic parasitism
OA : supravoluntary
RA : taboo sub rosa
With this firmly in mind, and gripping twin stabilizing cantos fast and high as anchor, sail, flag, or rail, I bid you aim your ardor toward a tiny natural history of vast import involving, as I’d claim (and as my modifications of illustrations show), cyclic parasitism, triply stung, of man, snail, and lazy oa by Oosdoli urvysc, a polar cnidosporidian protoctist. Following Turbo and Vighan [6], I supply a summary of what’s known:
MS : paramanic pancarnic
RR : panconflictual
IO : sosigonic parasitism
OA : supravoluntary
RA : taboo sub rosa
Fig. 1. Situation in Hamiltonia. (A) Moanzy host cytoplasm sustains sutric invasion by Oosdoli sporoplasmids; cytoplasmic transformation, rapid binary fission, and cytoplasmic lysis follow with a burst of Oosdoli cnidocysts. (a) Nimloidu swallow Moanzy scat containing cnidocysts. (B) In Nimloidu gut, chaotic fusion of multipolar anisogamic Oosdoli oocysts churns out syncytial polysomic sporocysts. (b) Norlian gourmands savor pavonian Nimloidu in which parasitism by Oosdoli is rampant. (C) Induction of haptomonad photophilic Oosdoli sporoblasts from gut-bound sporocysts via mustard-biocatalysis prompts phototrophic ritualization in human hosts. (c) By munching on human carrion, Moanzy fulfill cyclic parasitic natural history of Oosdoli.
1.1.
In its GI tract, primary symptomatic host Moanzy ninsrata (lazy oa) sustains sutric invasion (si) of its cytoplasm by stringy pinocytotic sporoplasmid (sp) forms of Oosdoli, such that cytoplasmic transformation (ct), including usurpation of normal mitochondrial and ribosomal functioning, of host occurs, allowing sp, shorn now of undulipodia, to multiply rapidly through binary fission, upon which cytoplasmic lysis (cl) follows with a bright burst of compact thorny Oosdoli cnidocysts (cc) (Fig. 1A). Thus is unusual morphology of Moanzy brought about mainly, it is thought, through hormonal induction by si, ct, and cl impacting upon subsidiary outgrowths of, in particular, its proboscoid rhamphus. A bird displaying such signs of critical inflammation (anthropomimicry, torpor) may void thousands, nay, millions of Oosdoli cc in its droppings.
1.2.
Norlian snails (Nimloidu spp.), during consumption of Moanzy droppings (Fig. 1a), swallow Oosdoli cc which profit from granulocytic action of that mollusk’s qualmy innards by donning a capsular polysaccharidal shroud in which transfiguration into multipolar anisogamic oocysts (oc) can vouch a happy coming about (Fig. 1B). By duos and by trios, by quartals and by quintals, chaotic fusion of oc churns out syncytial polysomic sporocysts (sc) of Oosdoli which, dormant but for phototactic chromaticism, drift casually throughout this pansymptomatic host’s anatomy, imparting to gastropodal pallium an alluring pavonian glint.
1.3.
In a distant mountain land, gastropod-loving humans, Norlian gourmands — gossip-loving crows, too — traditionally savor Nimloidu in a cumin and mustard roux au jus (Fig. 1b; crows, raw: not in illustration, not in analysis (nor jays — pity!)). Cooking kills oc gutbound in snails, but mustard, paradoxically, acts as a sort of biostatic catalyst, kiss-coupling undulipodia growth with mitotic division. From sc sprung in a pouch of human colon, and hiding now in blood and lymph, haptomonad sporoblasts (sb) of Oosdoli girt with photophilic plastids, swim languidly about, spiraling, twisting, turning, pivoting, prompting not harm but joy (in parasymptomatic host individuals with intact immunological capability, that is), subsisting on naught but apoptotrophy, and wait, wait, wait, as I’ll show in my sixth Towards a schizomythology of ritual (TSMR-6) [7], for a particular slant of light (Fig. 1C). Cut to a shot of things final. Custom commands that Norlians accomplish burial by stuffing an individual’s mortal chaff into Moanzy roosting pits (natural catacombs occurring in high mountain locations); anthropophagic Moanzy gulp down such human carrion, grim shadows of rituals past, taking in Oosdoli sb which split apart into insidious sp (Figs. 1c and 1A).
In contrast to this situation of sosigonic stability (sss) obtaining in Hamiltonia, in Babylonia — dusky land from which Moanzy was long ago shot to nullity by both toxophilic and match-lock toting countryfolk of numb rapacity — Oosdoli transforms into a doubly maturational polysyngamid causing, in its human host, a mood affliction commonly known as Ishtar’s Hand. To wit:
Fig. 2. Situation in Babylonia. (A) Maturation of Oosdoli from sporoplasmid to cnidocyst occurs in ionis astra of Girtablullu warrior guardnymphs. (a) Girtablullu sting at dusk or dawn transmits cnidocysts to panprimary human host. (B) Luxuriant invasion by Oosdoli of human blood and skin spurs a pancyclic history involving panoocysts, pansporocysts, pan-sporoblasts, and pan-sporoplasmids which mix and match promiscuously (not shown), causing morosity minus morbidity. Parsimonious thought posits Ishtar’s Hand as anti-rubotic fallout following upon natural historic doubling of parasitic cyclicity in panprimary host. (b) Transmission of Oosdoli occurs by gulping down of human scat by Nimloidu. (C) Typical cc–oc–sc cycling of Oosdoli occurs in Nimloidu gut. (c) Consumption of Nimloidu by Girtablullu imago and micronymph transmits Oosdoli sporocysts into (D) GI tract of Girtablullu such that induction of Oosdoli sporoblasts from sporocysts is brought about. (d) Girtablullu warrior guard-nymphs subsist only on trophallaxis for which solicitation of both imaginal and micronymphal instars is stood for as commonly typical in this organism.
2.1.
Lacking primary host Moanzy, Oosdoli inhabits ionis astra (‘poison glands’, sg. ionic astrum) of warrior guard-nymphs of Girtablullu nyctonostici Strick., a nidicolous nocturnal portal scorpion found lurking in dark doorways, stairways, and dry old jars of marshland agriculturalists’ shacks. Oosdoli maturation from sp to cc involving si, ct, cl, loss of undulipodia and binary fission as told in 1.1 occurs in this infraprimary host (Fig. 2A). But wait! With just a flick (ow) of a Girtablullu guard-nymph’s stinging tail, Ishtar’s Hand kicks into action (Fig. 2a).
2.2.
Transmission of cc via Girtablullu guard-nymph sting (Fig. 2a), and, thus, not into GI tract as usually occurs in Norlia from human consumption of Nimloidu (Fig. 1b), but straight into blood and skin, spurs normally staid Oosdoli into staging an unusually luxuriant invasion consisting, at first, of burrasca (profound local inflammation) and, as a sort of ingratiating postscript to that incommodious wound, total body pangamy fulfilling a pancyclic history such that cc, thriving on and in human blood, transforms to panoocysts (poc), poc to pansporocysts (psc), psc to pansporoblasts (psb), and psb to pansporoplasmids (psp) which mix and match promiscuously within this panprimary host’s brain (morosity of Ishtar’s Hand, at this locus, minus morbidity, charts a path of, by turns, lust and sorrow, guilty passion and impositional languor), and finally siphon ciliarically off, by way of usual si, ct and cl, into cc, producing bilious goatish mucoid scat (Fig. 2B or 2b).
2.3.
Nimloidu snails (brought to Babylonia by craft-avid mouth-lush young Norlianas slung-bound, sans ktar, ktar, ktar or ktar, to chariots of infamy and prostitutional traffic, submitting to rank nautchdom, sluttish uxorium, only by torturous proxy and lack of proximity to candid kin of clannish, phratric, or avuncular status) swallow that scat (Fig. 2b). Typical cc-oc-sc cycling of Oosdoli occurs (Figs. 1B and 2C). Today is Ulrich’s birthday [8].
2.4.
At dusk you crawl forth, O gonopodal imago of Girtablullu! Plural, ubiquitous, synchronian and yonic, dorsal-clad with scuffling micronymphs, O Girtablullu! Proud warrior guard-nymphs, your loyal kin, kiss in salutation as you pass your thorn-bright tail with waving claws! From shack at dusk you crawl forth, O Girtablullu, spiny black child of Tiamat! In inky night you stalk your timorous food, Nimloidu. That slimy pulp you sting and stun — ow! A cringing flinch of ocular stalk, and into spiral cloud that rainbow curls as if by horrific storm (burrasca) struck! O Girtablullu, Tiamat’s child, into irid whorls of mollusk your own offspring swarm: a hissing glut, an arachnal orgy of storsophagia! Nourishing trophallaxis follows (Fig. 2c). (Phallic individuals hunt hummingbirds, chipmunks, cicadas, dragonfly larva, asps, pangolin pups, and small lizards.) With gutsful of gastropod, O Girtablullu, and micronymphs sluggish on board, you crawl back at dawn to shacks and doors, stairs and jars! Do you know that in your gastric pouch grow sc of insidious Oosdoli, bound by paths fatidic into sb to transform (Fig. 2d)? Probably not!
2.5.
Back at yon portal, from yonic imago to guard-nymph, trophallaxis, also, transmits Oosdoli (Fig. 2d). A clumsy human stumbling at dawn towards pot or plow risks a Girtablullu guard-nymph’s wrath (Fig. 2a). Watch out!
Got it? Good. Now you may ask: What point has all this for us, for whom Hamiltonia is sad history, and Babylonia, bibliographical curiosity? Just follow my binocular aim as I point my magic wand, a ludict digit, straight out that window and you, too, will spot, far off towards Mount Spitmarkx, a stormy auk (Moanzy burrasca Strick., 1843) winging it roostward. That bird, too, though not as torpid as Old World M. ninsrata, shows signs of anthropomimicry. And tracking downhill from tundra, you, too, will spy, among poplar and ash, a mob of dull mirrors winking in rhythm to cloudshadow skating across a patchwork of sun: tin-roof shacks of a slapdash community of poor Intrussyans among whom an affliction similar to Ishtar’s Hand is rampant; among whom also poaching of stormy auk is common. And should you now posit an attribution of causality linking affliction to poaching as it obtains in Wyoming and Flouziana? If you don’t, I will, and, in fact, I shall, as you’ll find out in my sixth TSMR (infra, § 120). But for now, I’m still on that hill, with you or without (for what point’s in pointing if you don’t look through your own particular binopair?) [9], stalking for comparison a natural control group. Focus, focus, focus, got it. Proximal to that locus of Intrussyan habitation, across dark hump of scrub oak, sight skims along an outcropping of obsidian and tufa cut through by brookbank, to tarry among bucolic bustlings of a cut-log borough of Mountain Fukari. In dull sand squats a bright girlchild poking twigs into antlion pits; on porch knits an old woman a rainbow silk icon of Tlaatlata, gynandromorphic snailman of both Coast and Mountain Fukari myth. Focus on a fulvid frill of mustard banding brookbank: focus again on Tlaatlata’s animal half: among roots and rocks a diurnal population of normally nocturnal Nimloidu nyctonostici Strick., 1842, shows irid morphology. Could Oosdoli play a part? And what about mustard, and antlions, and Tlaatlaata, and fact that stormy auk is usually taboo for Fukari? Solution to this conundrum awaits, as I said, my sixth TSMR (voir infra, § 120).
Glossary
- burrasca
- Intrussyan for ‘storm,’ Babylonian for ‘rash,’ Ityalian for ‘drunk.’
- Glo Barš
- Spanning 21 March to 1 April, usually, ‘anno ballo’ is an all-out dionysiac bacchanalia fraught with such pith of primal impact, such gravity of taboo, that plural ubiquitous synchronian yonic ritual quanta of it ramify schizomythically throughout all of Tagmo-Norlian sociophysiology.
- Intrussyan
- Popular tag of a hybrid community of Assyrio-Babylonian and Hispano-Slavic immigrants to Mountain Fukari Country in Wyoming and Flouziana, known particularly for its arrant jingoism brought about by a high probability of affliction with a malady similar to Ishtar’s Hand (q.v.); that community’s Hamito-Slavic patois.
- ionic astrum
- ‘Dawn star’ (symbol of Io and Ishtar and Atta and Dudu usw.); ‘poison gland;’ pl. ionis astra.
- Ishtar’s Hand
- Following transmission via ow (q.v.) of Oosdoli urvysc into panprimary human host a particularly nasty but fruitful Babylonian griffin snarls a dolorous mosaic of sociophysiological and schizomythological causation involving modification of individual conduct and habit and concomitant complication of mood (multipolar swings of spiritual inflation and animal morosity, mythic highs and monstrous lows) having impact on political, cultural, historical, and trophic morphological variation within and among populations of Babylonia including promiscuity, social stratification, graphomania, iconalgia, scorpion worship, war, and whatnot.
- ktar
- (i) Spiral of fortifications surrounding town or city in mountainous Hamiltonia, Norlia in particular; (ii) intoxicating concoction, ruddy in color, lambic in flavor, of cumin, mustard, Nimloidu snails au jus, and various saprophytic bush rust (rats?) and/or bark, drunk hot, cold, warm, putrid and rancid from a rough, ungainly mug during Glo Barš (q.v.); (iii) triply strung Norlian oud; (iv) small book of mystical magical incantations bound, usually, in black goatskin (vid. Ktar og-Firrsan).
- Ktar og-Firrsan
- ‘Book of Distaff Cuttings,’ iconic canonical compilation c. 1600 mixing garrulity and laconicity by Corinthian Tagma scholar, ornithologist, librarian, and birdman Subborainizy listing various crows and jays touching upon Norlia and its curious inhabitants including Patrolius’s Ionis Astra.
- ow
- Babylonian word signifying a ‘flick’ of a portal scorpion’s (Girtablullu nyctonostici) stinging tail.
- Tiamat
- Schizomythic Babylonian matriarch of storms and scorpions.
- Tlaatlata
- Schizomythic Fukari iconoclastic bouffon or buffoon, half-man, halfwoman; half-snail, half-bird; half-human, half-animal; half-animal, half-plant; half-plant, half-rock; half-rock, half-crystal; half-crystal, half-rain; half-rain, half-cloud; half-cloud, half-sky; half-sky, half-sun; half-sun, half-star; half-star, half-moon; half-moon, halfman.
Distaff Cuttings
- Budding from oc in random distribution owing to canonical constraints of snail syncytial translocations (sst).
- Stationary ‘adult’ morph which slips smoothly, osmotically.
- Amply girt with strapping cups of ktar, can sustain high amounts of sb without any untoward complaints, as shown by voluntary tank titration (vtt).
- Mildly thrilling aggravation, which is pulsational cyclic annual induction by spring sunlight stimulating transformation of sc to sb, is also, as I will show, synchronous with Glo Barš.
- All things, though, must pass away; all into dust shall go.
- Post-partum morosity motivating towards natural distaff cutting, culling, or trimming of somatosomic abnormality.
- What is syntax’s point but rhythm? What is syntactic orality but rhythmic human warbling? What words signify is only part of it. What wordicity and ornithicity say is that human prattling on about things is homologous to birdsong.
- Manipulation by ranging and mating taking a stand or not shot through with it.
- How fashion a conditional philosophy of minds not your own simply by positing what it is that you would think if.
- Would quoral rapacity wring from a common cunt a sort of kinship by proxy? I ask. Similar to that which glorious quarry’s pursuit should, according to various calculations, summon forth from tribadists, tribalists, and sailors.
- How maintain control in situations of virgin birth and bastardy. Blow a sappy john at random and pray it all works out.
- Viral Gaia, immunological implications of taboo, a particular motif of Mountain Fukari schizomythology posits cosmic birth from night-crawling snails, immunological boost following consumption of Moanzy showing antianthropomimicry.
- Solution to this conundrum by Raymond and Kidjaki is so far adrift as to want a sound samaritan scuttling.
- Incipit. — Patrolius, Ionis Astra, c. 1517, cantos 1 and 2, O. W. Johnson trans.
- Worn-out locus. — Raymond, A. and C. Kidjaki. 1995. Social anthropological transawakalations. I. Introduction. Journal of Sociophysiology 4(11). Raymond, A. and C. Kidjaki. 1996. Social anthropological transawakalations. II. Tagma. Journal of Sociophysiology 4(1). Raymond, A. and C. Kidjaki. 1996. Social anthropological transawakalations. III. Coast Fukari. Journal of Sociophysiology 4(3). Raymond, A. and C. Kidjaki. 1996. Social anthropological transawakalations. IV. Mountain Fukari. Journal of Sociophysiology 4(5).
- Fourth part. — Towards a schizomythology of ritual IV (TSMR-4) voir supra, § 82.
- This or that atlas. — A. Warburg, Pictorial atlas illustrating functional motion in antiquarian art, London (1929); V.F. Kapustin, Atlas parazitov krovi zhivotnykh, Moskva (1955)
- Manicarnic Paradigm of Schizomythology. — O. W. Johnson, loc. cit.
- Turbo, M., & Vighdan, B. (1993). Comparison of cyclic parasitism by Oosdoli urvysc in contrasting populations of Hamiltonia and Babylonia, Journal of Sociophysiology 2(9).
- TSMR-6. — voir infra, § 120.
- Ulrich’s birthday. — Musil, R. (1930). A man totally lacking in qualifications. Hamburg: Rowolt.
- Binopair. — That autumn, I was working as an au pair for a Mountain Fukari family.
§ 114.
Continual hard work. — And should I jot down what you might catch sight of? Brooding’s no way to fix a torn infatuation. Chock full to lipring’s brim. And just what is it I’m missing out on, you ask. That unkind slut shut you out of your digs. Along soapslick thigh a thrill of hands. Bathroom tango of thumbsnatch. Too drunk for loving and too drunk for words. I, too, could languish in horror of dawn’s accusatory wink. Waning moon rising in a gray sky shot through with starlings.
§ 115.
What this work is worth apart from any worth intrinsic to its author. — And should I howl into my pillow? I forgot what I was talking about. But it’s coming back. It’s coming. I howl again.
