Editions MSS
Editions MSS
Words to Make a Story Out of
Second Pod

Both painter and model

§ 65. Venerates | § 66. Vicarage | § 67. Eros | § 68. Nines | § 69. Exile | § 70. Redistemperates | § 71. As | § 72. Tradine Oru | § 73. Embittered I ate | § 74. Sinemota | § 75. Cramp | § 76. CAR | § 77. R | § 78. AD | § 79. Mood | § 80. Pe-word | § 81. Irixe, Sr. Miwa | § 82. Womaninity | § 83. Doe | § 84. Conid | § 85. Abnorm | § 86. MRK | § 87. OW | § 88. Aseli | § 89. Diem | § 90. Redo | § 91. Exodus | § 92. R | § 93. S. E. Spitmarkx | § 94. PI | § 95. Recedeatism | § 96. R | § 97. AT | § 98. Toxophile | § 99. Tintone | § 100. Old | § 101. Lesbianism | § 102. GO | § 103. ME | § 104. Mes | § 105. Eeticade | § 106. AO | § 107. Extemporaneous | § 108. Topchan | § 109. Pox | § 110. Oospore | § 111. ID | § 112. SBI | § 113. Innater | § 114. PPP | § 115. Posts | § 116. Exudate | § 117. Atlas’s | § 118. IN | § 119. Ohcer | § 120. Elate | § 121. Ityalian | § 122. Lance | § 123. Igwee | § 124. Sihlaucal | § 125. Ulna | § 126. CACA | § 127. Tagna | § 128. Tlaatlata | § 129. Inwit | § 130. Sentences ascèse | § 131. AH | § 132. Esaa | § 133. Shmeem R.
§ 65 | Venerates
Even such lovely spécimens ôtables of insatiable lexical transvestality as I, i.e., moi, require — de temps très accablé en cuando retiro mis palabras (die Worte darin überstimmte die Arbeit textbezogen) — that one, on occasion, play the recluse, c’est-à-dire, que l’on se retire des tamponnements à oisonnerie bistrotesque, so to speak, avant que le dessert empâte irrévocablement l’appétit verbalisateur, dirons-nous (as we might be tempted to say), and so I remit debate tending to plunge past the livid uvula of the interminable palaver à cigüe between fervent Eros and fatalistic Logos and into the very gorge à cavillation cabaretière (joli métier de bite à tête!) jusqu’à quelque autre rondin d’un plus propice, gravatif moment sialorrhéique should present itself, and, cinching tight the translucent cestum textis of clitalysis (as I fear that my sensitive little organ of polyglot senimality ne se flétrisse de température, dira-t-on, trop insensitive), I seek out — since, comme Bénatrou dira, “Qui ne sait pas regarder les peupliers de solitude, n’arroge pas non plus son regard sur et pour des saules où furète une poule affamée” — a less lexically promiscuous exile in the embracive garden of a sort of vicarious vicarage qui se trouve dans un reculé endroit au rebours de la Butte Montmarâtre. There, amidst the hysterical petals in lapis and rose of Legousia speculum-veneris (espèce de mirette abêtie) growing along a brown incurvation of stone wall I unroll, ce jour riant de commencement du mois tenant d’As, my thin but protective Tetrastic tomaseni (苫維) upon which I sit cross-legged in my kimono and invite, like a doe in rut, reality to come and, like the recondite tribade, temerarious sapphist, indiscreet sister, dame pugnace, virago vantée, serviable fouteuse that she is, peel back the burning prepuce of perception from the ontic olisbophane and liberally probe me with (since “ἑκάστης ἡμέρας περὶ ἀρετῆς τοὺς λόγους ποιεῖσθαι καὶ τῶν ἄλλων περὶ ὧν ὑμεῖς ἐμοῦ ἀκούετε διαλεγομένου καὶ ἐμαυτὸν καὶ ἄλλους ἐξετάζοντος, ὁ δὲ ἀνεξέταστος βίος οὐ βιωτὸς ἀνθρώπῳ,” as Socrates is said to have said) the hot mise à nu, l’ardu rotin érectile, of her sibylline baculum: The sweetest spired ramage, varicolored in or, taupe, green, red, noir — autumn-tempered, Stresa-inflected motley — of a tree distempers marvelously the solar whitewash above and through which Carpathian swallows — Avaric gems of sibilant aiguesistence, opal-winged sprites, rematers and rerematers dépistés dans les airs! — ply their volant venery while beneath the rattan cushion I sense the gemmate kiss of clubmoss that enervates, as it were, l’épice du moment à soi in which la mémoire se trempe d’astuces fiévreuses — Hebe’s cup of prussiate-embittered wine whose pure-dreamt sips teem with pathetic flashes of tendresse mitée par teigneuses bribes de lexiques pinailleurs, désir empesté, raté même par des miettes ergoteuses of that poisonous palaver between our beloved gamin sensuel, Eros, and our venerable gamin sensé, Logos, which penetrates even the thick antrorse walls of my sanctuarii venefici!
§ 66 | Vicarage
Autrement dit, je songe, grâce à ces tavernesques parlotes, à revenir sur el viaje en la isla estrecha de Aseli que he hecho in the company of three fellow Ilesanists, to wit: Renate, vesticondelectata contubernalis ἐρωτῐκή (a rare mix I wish so often most devoutly for!); Adam Trembart, an otherwise honest amour, exponent of sardonic sexism, raw Irish whisky, and other more pansue exotica when not jouant son rôle as assistant textualist (AT) or artist-typographer (AT) or something at the Owlstain SCAT; and Gloria Opornémuse, a Texican sexpot or Eumenid cockatrice, depending on whether she vigorously extravasate you with her supreme strap-on, ou exauce s/tes envies labdiques avec plus de douceur (go down on you more delicately). We had gone to that autonome island of the Far Gimmals in order to visit Ilesa, a same-sex eupornotopia modeled on that other saugrenue ex post amota conspecta esquisse d’exquise débauche près des eaux mornes, poétiques, of the Shatsbrook where, of course, Mother Petra’s moue exonerates venery of all sorts, and whose hedonic homo-, hetero-, and neuter rixes I am widely considered to be a far wiser, ximiendo e verosímil asegurador(a) thereof than most. The primary motive of our trip was to enable notre perverse et vénale virago, GO, who was later to dispense with her mellifluous though hideolexemeous patronymic for reasons fairly obvious, to seek sociophysiological inspiration with her partner, Maryam R., who was then interned in Ilesa, for their pet project, Glampornium, as it was then called, and especially its Playground of Taboo, both of which were to be instaurated not long after (sans the slatternly epenthetic nasal) under the joint auspices of ISOCPHYS and the Methuen Foundation. R and I meanwhile took our extemporaneous pleasure how- and wheresoever we could, whether sway-backed and bare-fistedly silhouetted like sashimi sex-warrior slash shadow-poppets against the waxed and glowing, déversant écran of our xaimiš (wire-framed reavers’ tent), or smiling with the iconic dildo firmly cresting the bejeweled montes veneris of gregarious Amazonia, Lesbos facticia, dusky korephile Astarte rising in the writhing eastern verge of dawn. As for adonic AT, it was, of course, a case of prohibere ex nomos putearse with the fair sex (wir mitleidige gemischtgeschlechtige und doppelgeschlechtliche Beispiele von Zwittertum, on the other hand, were permitted to play with whomever) though he was granted full liberty, grâce à son association with the SCAT, to geschlechtsmirar i sexwitness, so to speak, the inmates’ exotic praxis, wire-rimmed gafas ever vigilant for some of the more outrées, pexomaniacal, foutues, peroxomaned visiones to cartwheel like magic lantern slides out of their taboo’d playground and opportunistically project themselves onto the tinted, jaloux, remote panes du voy(ag)eur journalistique.
§ 67 | Eros
There could be found, dans ce recoin de l’île Aseli, savamment versé à pleins flots par des minettes revenantes à chaque coin dIlesa, a plethora of finest venereal elixirs — warm Eiswein laced with honey and cantharadin; cold Coast Fukari salep for which our lovely drinks-fairies mix raw turmeric and cinnamon into a decoction combining the local alces laiterie’s xamir with the roasted and ground tubers of that iconic delectus of orexis wa-imris, Orchis laeta Steinh., 1838; hot jasmine tea servi avec des bourgeons de Lophophora sp. fraîchement exprimés (Wixáritari hikuri buttons, freshly pressed); and, of course, the island’s distinctive and eponymous libation, xir-e miśri wa-aseli, being among the more memorable of the various Paphian potations and Fescennine forage it was my wont and privilege to samir i xwerir (mamar y chupar, turluter et brouter) during our stay there — to help catabolize the cataplectic catamite, anabolize the anachoristic anchorite, parabolize the paradoxical parasite, symbolize the sympathetic symphysis elata pubis, or diabolize the diaphoretic donatrice du gode Mixir (swearing and sweating on the chaste venerable elongated icon of whom suffuses the devotee “d’un immatériel assouvissement qui serre la joie lassante [spiritual seizure of glaireous λείᾱ] comme, parmi les ailés fourmis aux larves glabres, la trophallaxis mire,” writes Pallas Leiris, “le baiser d’une bouche de pucelle bourrée de foutre”) depending on the most proximate and gravest needs of the spintriastic nodi amicalis, essentials of the epicene travesty, prerequisites of the undinist objective, et renasqués épreuves de gougnote. A propos: the daiquiri-swarm exigencies of this queer, vast enchiridion compel me to forge une périssologie salace et servante qui pénètre svaratantrically its more exquisite periods such that its humble author might even hope to see, comme d’un moment rêvé savoureusement, la lune d’une risette de frairie wax smirkily on the stoic retroflex maw — irrisibly fixé rima wisraka — of your earnest everyday philistine.
§ 68 | Nines
Perhaps every trip masks texts which mark its sex positions as elaborately as the stark sex impulse of the translexically prolix trip makes substantively plain the, so to speak, sex prismatical poiesis intrinsic to the cryptic tetragrammaton of the indocile project in toto: trip, sex, mask, text. Let me explain. When not engaged in sweaty sessions of the sorts of sociophysiological praxis I’m rewriting as they return to me, such as the smaravaśi elixir we smārita supra, there were a thousand other rather épais lexical ecological exploits to pursue. Por ejemplo, in addition to the humdrum heterosexual satyr-nymph enjambments (SNE) and deep kiss extramuros with some stale simulacrum of preteen versatility, its trim raw sex iridescent and glabrous, which priapic ondervondete Adam had plenty of opportunities to immerse et vanter himself in and about outside the Ilesan homotaxis’ warier impositions, the Fates, never ones to skimp extrascriptural conjunctures (the Huerta-Fukari tendance, par exemple, à sacraliser les onzes et les neufs, for instance, had no small role to play en los asuntos que siguen), ordained that I should be the first clitalytically récréée transvestan ever to ver, en esta biblioteca antiga del Ksar Pexmits d’Aseli, el editio princeps of S. E. Spitmarkx’s proto-senimalistic Urtext, Luftig-pfeilschriftige Abbildungen, the fervent, easeful, nicodemonian, relevée translexification of which I embarked upon then and there and continued throughout my schizomythological studies and heterolexical indoctrination and altarian training in Owlstain and have brought to fruition and publication here in Lutèce. Following the Warburgian principe de l’heureux voisin codicologique, j’ai trouvé ce texte des textes parmi skeuomorphic slag (I forget which book I’d been looking for). I was naturally familiar with the name Spitmarkx, since the snow-capped peaks of said soi-disant “Mount Meru of Fukariland” can be seen in the distance, even from le Vieux Port d’Owlstain, and especially from the pastoral grounds of Château Methuen, on a clear day, and so when I saw, in the musty bibliophilic belly of the “Lucky Fort,” the golden letters SPITMARKX emblazoned en escalier on the curved yet crumbling spine of an otherwise nondescript old tome wedged, contra any bibliographic logic I could or can fathom, in amongst les bas fonds of primitive picture books for proletarian toddlers whose entfremdete parents even wish to instill in them the rudiments of revolution, I not only got down on my knees to caress the impressed velum, I gently eased the heft and girth of it out of la fente rêvasseuse, and, delicately splaying its chipped, bruised, though still velutinous limbs with my productive, prehensile, adaptable conidiophores of promiscuous textualité (as liable to put out as they’re able to take in), brought its velvety delta very close to (tout près de) my organs of textual delectation and embarked upon that cheirocular species of broutage called “reading.” As I happened to remark to the vénéré stacker who happened to catch me in flagrante delicto textis, an unexpectedly agreeable Huerta-Fukari ami, “Sex writes itself; c’est à nous de sexualiser le texte, spark simpering, simmering similes en las mentes veraces de los lectores liados.” “Me trouve-je en quelque assiete servant à nous tranquilliser?” he responded en citant sévèrement Montaigne. “Y a il quelque volupté qui me chatouille? je ne laisse pas friponer aux sens, j’y associe mon ame, non pas pour s’y engager, mais pour s’y agreer, non pas pour s’y perdre, mais pour s’y trouver,” and the happy way he had à se mirer is waxing still in my memory as is the way his prosperous state had à en poiser (mix raw ingredients therein). When I got back to the book, I discovered that each of its 121 terse, avenantes, numbered sutras, alone and centered en el jadeante verso, was like a pristine blastula slowly maturing in the senimal holotype’s matrix, skived of the usual Ruritanian battologies that typically clutter the philosophical parchments of the period; en face sur le suave séant recto, l’auteur avait imprimé wax irisations of ideopraxism, sketches of that which from each of the texts kam springen into the reader’s face comme mon fougueux ami presst klebrige Trophyllaxis im wirrendem Mund: a fist, a door, a pile of fissile sand, snow-covered rooftops, chimney pots, wisps of smoke. Unfortunately, the Huerta-Fukari-Mexisi War then raging meant that, in order to travel from the safety of Ilesa and our tarea sociofisiológica de desoprimir sex waif refugees, raven tresses freshly shorn, to the safety of Ksar Pexmits, one had to traverse tense, tenuous, tenebrious, and all too tentiginous throngs of those universal eisenmenschliches promoters of global, off-base, illicit panmixies — warriors qui aiment, if you please, ventrouiller le ventre-saint-gris de n’importe quoi n’importe où et donc I was often forced to urdir y dirimir six awesomely randy specimens of ditto in order to have the privilege of sitting quietly, more or less (and much less than more when the eager stacker was under, over, or in me), at a cubicle next to a window in the Lucky Fort’s library in order to copy out in clear longhand (alas, I err greatly when in figurative mode, so none of my pen-and-ink imitations of Spitmarkx’s etchings survive) in the margins of my sociophysiological research the contents of each of Spitmarkx’s eleven luftige Pfeilschriften, as that author called what I have translexicated as “airy arrowscripts.” Furthermore, our Rhenish Snorri, wise maximalist of the mythoplasmically minimal though he was, was also maximally practical in the minutest matters touching on his eponymous firm, in short, a miser: wax, iridescent or plain, marbled paper, colored ink, slipcases, printer’s orthoclase, lithography stones — all such fancy means to débanaliser le quotidien were dispensed with at minor savings to the Buchfabrik, but at the great expense of the abstract ideas’ illuminations der Bücher that were fabricated therein, y por consiguiente ha decidido reimprimir six wearisome exempla of a more orthodox mss Partikel — wearisome parce qu’il les a éventrés de leurs dessins, orthodox parce qu’il les a entravés en alinéas ternes, évacués de toute charme graphique. These are the bland items one will find in the Senate Verborium of Western Appalachia, Ouvroir Communal de Lectrices et Lecteurs de Lutèce, Jotun’s Librairie-Wix’s Maktaba av Brimir, Šaxiwa Sifiriya Subartiwu, and often several other bibliothèques municipales, but in soiled, limp, roneographed samizdat editions in tiny typeface, and the possibility of finding even these is often quite remote due to — mais je divague. So, until my Tetrastic phoenix rewarms, I intend to rise to the albeit bildlos occasion of being able to reréaliser Spitmarkx’s epistle in the cleaner vestments of a three-way translexicization of it, in documentary mode only, bien sûr, grâce à The Meaner Side, en commençant avec die/la/la/the
Erste Pfeilschrift | Primera Flechacritura | Première Flèchecriture | First Arrowscript
§ 1.1
Das Wort ist alles, was die Faust ist | La palabra es todo lo que el puño es | Le mot est tout ce que le poing est | The word is everything the fist is.
§ 1.2
Das Wort ist das Gesicht der Türspalte, nicht der Dächer | La palabra es la cara de las puerta-brechas, no de los techos | Le mot est la face des porte-fentes, non des toits | The word is the face of doorcracks, not of roofs.
§ 1.3
Das Wort ist durch die Türspalte bestimmt und dadurch, daß es alle Türspalte sind | La palabra esta determinada por las puerta-brechas, y por ser todas las puerta-brechas | Le mot est déterminé par les porte-fentes, et par ceci qu’ils sont toutes les porte-fentes | The word is determined by the doorcracks, and by these being all the doorcracks.
§ 1.4
Denn, das Gesicht der Türspalte bestimmt, was die Faust ist und auch, was alles nicht die Faust ist | Porque la cara de las puerta-brechas determina lo que el puño es, y también todo lo que el puño no es | Puisque la face des porte-fentes détermine ce qui est le poing, et aussi tout ce qui n’est pas le poing | For the face of doorcracks determines both what is the fist, and also all that is not the fist.
§ 1.5
Die Türspalte im luftigen Rauch sind das Wort | Las puerta-brechas en el humo airoso son la palabra | Les porte-fentes dans la fumée éthérée sont le mot | The doorcracks in airy smoke are the word.
§ 1.6
Das Wort zerfällt in Türspalten | La palabra se descompone en puerta-brechas | Le mot se décompose en porte-fentes | The word decays into doorcracks.
§ 1.7
Eines kann die Faust sein oder nicht die Faust sein und alles übrige gleich bleiben | Se puede ser el puño o no ser el puño, y está siempre la misma canción | L’on peut, soit être le poing, soit ne pas l’être, et c’est toujours la même chanson | Any one can either be the fist or not be the fist, and the song remains the same.
§ 1.8
Was die Faust ist, der Türspalt, ist das Blatt von Sandmustern | Lo que el puño es, la puerta-brecha, es la hoja de dibujos arenosos | Ce qui est le poing, la porte-fente, est la feuille de dessins sableux | What the fist is, the doorcrack, is the leaf of sandpatterns.
§ 1.9
Die Sandmuster sind ein Verhängnis von Gedanken. Schnee, Dächer | Los dibujos arenosos son el hado de pensamientos. Nieve, techos | Les dessins sableux sont le destin des pensées. Neiges, toits | Sandpatterns are thoughts’ doom. Snow, roofs.
§ 1.10
Es ist dem Dache wesentlich, der Bundtraum der Sandmuster sein zu können | Es esencial al techo de poder ser el sueño ligado de dibujos arenosos | Il est crucial au toit qu’il peut être le rêve connexe de dessins sableux | It is essential to a roof that it can be the league-dream of sandpatterns.
§ 1.11
In der Luft ist nichts zufällig: wenn das Dach in die Sandmuster verwandeln kann, so muss die Menschlichkeit der Sandmuster im Dache bereits präjudiziert sein | En el aire, nada es accidental: si el techo puede transformarse en dibujos arenosos, la humanidad de los dibujos arenosos debe estar ya prejuzgada en el techo | En plein air, rien n’est accidentel: si le toit peut se métamorphoser en dessins sableux, l’humanité des dessins sableux doit déjà être préjugée sur le toit | In the air nothing is accidental: if a roof can change into sandpatterns, the humanness of sandpatterns must already be prejudged in and on the roof.
§ 69 | Exile
Now, unless my mental drawer is mixing its metaphorical files arbitrarily, even ein vorbreitende Skriptsexamen docimastique of Spitmarkx’s epigrammatical monster reveals, by means of a sort of clitalytical apex — stark, simple, sain et sauf — the schizomythic processes ever at noetic work in any author’s œuvre, poetic or not, yet which are all too often overlooked, because author and source over time s’en sont fait, as Laforgue says, “élixirer,” mais Wittgenstein, doctement calquant, as any reader of his Tractatus will see, Herzen’s averted tropes into or onto Spitmarkx’s exacting frame, conditions exactly the kinds of lexical trixies I’m warranting my exegetical wager with: replace the latter’s Wort and Faust with the middle author’s despair-axis, мир (Welt), and radix-spark, место (Fall), et voilà, we have the former’s famous “world [which] is everything that is the case.” But it is not my intention here to dwell on which of our metaphysical mountebanks’ praxis téméraire de plagiat, whether classed as an aphérésé navet of paramarxist skepticism, ou comme une pateline trêve s’avançant towards a fetishistic hapax, merits skewering on the spit of authenticity or deserves entailments of the sort befalling your prototypically brave tenesmic poule qui a trouvé Mímir’s axe: writhing headless in the spurious manure of the new. For such judgments, if taken to their logical extremes, would but serve to exile satirists to some insipid île aseptisée of the happy lapsus calami, condemn essayists to the literary equivalent of surimi’s raw exiguity, and alienate versifiers from the complex master skip rope of enjambment, par exemple. Rather, I would have dwelt in that fruitful cubicle for months, years if need be, lavishing all my Graeco-Latinate translexicalisms on that Brytho-Saxonic text’s prim akṣara while my indigenous bibliothécaire performed miracles of huerta-fukarilinguistics entre mes belles cuisses écartées, but, to quote Verlaine, the world as it was then “troublait [notre] parole profonde,” giving us but nine or eleven days to complete both the sex tasks permitted, or rather, required, by our Ilesan project and my own more частных мастик (persnickety and sticky) one of copying out Spitmarkx’s editio princeps, saving its transformation into more recently acquired yet quite fluent Appalacho-Flouziane as well as lithe native New Lexican for later during my present Parisian exile, viz.,
Zweite Pfeilschrift | Segunda Flechacritura | Deuxième Flèchecriture | Second Arrowscript
§ 2.1
Es erschiene gleichsam als Zukunft, wenn dem Dache, das allein für sich blattern könnte, nach träglich eine Silbe passen würde. Wenn die Dächer in Sandmustern verwandeln können, so muss dies schon in ihnen liegen. Etwas Luftiges kann nicht nur-menschlich sein. Die Luft handelt von jeder Menschlichkeit und alle Menschlichkeiten sind ihre Türspalte. Wie wir uns räuchliche Gedanke überhaupt nicht ausserhalb des Rauches, zählig nicht ausserhalb der Zahl denken können, so können wir uns keinen Gedanke ausserhalb der Menschlichkeit seiner Verhängnis mit denken. Wenn ich mir den Gedanke im Verfolgte des Sandmusters denken kann, so kann ich ihn nicht ausserhalb der Menschlichkeit dieses Verfolgtes denken | Aparecería, por así decirlo, como el futuro si a un techo capaz de hojear por sí mismo pudiese subsecuentemente convenirle una sílaba. Si los techos puede transformarse en dibujos arenosos, esta posibilidad debe estar ya en ellos. Algo airoso no puede ser sólo-humano. El aire trata de toda humanidad y todas las humanidades son sus puerta-brechas. Lo mismo que no nos es posible pensar pensamientos humosos fuera del humo y pensamientos numéricos fuera del número, así no podemos pensar ningún pensamiento fuera de la humanidad de su hado con otros. Si yo puedo pensar el pensamiento en la caza del dibujo arenoso, no puedo, sin embargo, pensarlo fuera de la humanidad de esa caza | Il apparaîtrait pour ainsi dire comme de l’avenir qu’à un toit qui pourrait feuilleter seule en lui-même, une syllabe convînt par surcroît. Si les toits peuvent se métamorphoser en dessins sableux, cette possibilité doit être déjà inhérente à ceux-ci. Quelque chose d’éthérée ne peut être seulement humaine, trop humaine. L’éther traite de chaque humanité, et toutes les humanités sont ses porte-fentes. De même que nous ne pouvons absolument penser des pensées fumeuses en dehors de la fumée, des pensées numériques en dehors du nombre, de même ne pouvons-nous penser aucune pensée en dehors de l’humanité de son destin avec d’autres. Si je puis penser la pensée dans la poursuite d’un dessin sableux, je ne puis la penser en dehors de l’humanité de cette poursuite | It would, so to speak, appear as the future, when to a roof that could leaf through alone on its own account, subsequently a syllable could be made to fit. If roofs can change into sandpatterns, this must already lie in them. Something airy cannot be merely human, all too human. Air treats of every humanness, and all humannesses are its doorcracks. Just as we cannot think of smoky thoughts at all apart from smoke, or figurative thoughts apart from numbers, so we cannot think of any thought apart from the humanness of its doom with other thoughts. If I can think of a thought in the persecution of a sandpattern, I cannot think of it apart from the humanness of this persecution.
§ 2.2
Das Dach ist silberglanzig, insofern es in allen menschlichen allzu menschlichen Silben verwandeln kann, aber diese Finger der Silberglanzigkeit ist eine Finger des Zeitschrundes mit dem Sandmuster, eine Finger der Unsilberglanzigkeit. Es ist unmenschlich, dass Wundenmal in zwei verschiedenen Weltakten auftreten, allein und im Segen | El techo es plateado en cuento en que puede transformarse en todas las sílabas humanas, demasiado humanas, pero este dedo de plateanidad es un dedo de la veta del tiempo en el dibujo arenoso, un dedo de implateanidad. Es inhumano que el estigma se presente de dos latidos del mundo distintos, solos y en la bendición | Le toit est argenté, en tant qu’elle peut se métamorphoser dans toutes les syllabes humaines, trop humaines, mais ce doigt d’argentité est un doigt du temps-filon dans le dessin sableux, un doigt d’inargentité. Il est inhumain que le stigmate apparaît à la fois de deux pulsions de monde différentes, isolées et dans la bénédiction | The roof is silvery, in so far as it can change into syllables which are human, all too human, but this finger of silveriness is a finger of time-seams within the sandpattern, a finger of nonsilveriness. It is inhuman for the stigma to occur in two different worldbeats, alone and in the blessing.
§ 2.3
Wenn ich den Gedanke kenne, so kenne ich auch sichtliche Menschlichkeiten seines Verwandels in Sandmuster. Jede solche Menschlichkeit muss in der Netz des Gedankes liegen. Es kann nicht nachträglich eine neue Menschlichkeit gefunden werden | Si yo conozco un pensamiento, conozco también visiblemente todas las humanidades de su transformación en dibujos arenosos. Cada una de tales humanidades debe estar contenida en el red del pensamiento. No se puede encontrar posteriormente una nueva humanidad | Si je connais une pensée, je connais aussi visiblemente toutes les humanités de ses métamorphoses en dessins de sable. Chacune de ces humanités doit être inhérente à la toile de la pensée. Il n’est pas possible de trouver de surcroît une nouvelle humanité | If I know a thought, then I also know visibly the humanness of its be(com)ing in sandpatterns. Every such humanness must lie in the web of thought. A new humanness cannot subsequently be found.
§ 2.4
Um einen Gedanken zu kennen, muss ich zwar nicht seine externen — aber ich muss alle seine internen Eisenschatten kennen | Para conocer un pensamiento no debo conocer sus sombras de hielo externas, sino todas sus sombras de hielo internas | Pour connaître un objet, il ne me faut certes pas connaître ses ombres de glace externes — mais bien toutes ses ombres de glace internes | In order to know a thought, I must know not its external, but all its internal ice-shadows.
§ 2.5
Sind alle Gedanken befingern, so sind damit auch alle menschlichen allzu menschlichen Sandmuster befingern | Si todos los pensamientos son dedados, también se dan con dedos todos los dibujos arenosos humanos, demasiado humanos | Si toutes les pensées sont doigtées, alors sont aussi en même temps doigtés tous les dessins de sable humains, trop humains | If all thoughts are fingered, then thereby are all human, all too human sandpatterns also fingered.
§ 2.6
Jedes Dach ist, gleichsam, in einem Rauche menschlicher Sandmuster. Diesen Rauch kann ich mir leer denken, nicht aber das Dach ohnen den Rauch | Cada techo está, por así decirlo, en un humo de dibujos arenosos humanos. Puedo pensar este humo como vacío, pero no puedo pensar el techo sin el humo | Chaque toit est, pour ainsi dire, dans une fumée de dessins de sable humains. Cette fumée, je puis la penser comme vide, mais non le toit sans fumée | Every roof is, as it were, in a smoke of human sandpatterns. I can think of this smoke as empty, but not of the roof without the smoke.
§ 2.7
Der räuchliche Gedanke muss im unendlichen Rauche liegen. Der Rauchpol ist ein Augstein. Die Furche im Gebrächferse muss zwar nicht rot sein, aber eine Fade muss er haben: er hat sozusagen den Fadenrauch um sich. Der Tag muss eine Himmel haben, der Gedanke des Tonsehnes eine Hammer usw. | El pensamiento humeado debe encontrarse en el humo infinito. La pértiga del humo es una piedra del ojo. Un surco en el tacón roto puede no ser rosa, pero debe tener un hilo; tiene, por así decirlo, un hilo de humo en torno suyo. El día debe tener un cielo, el pensamiento del tañido de la cuerda del arco un martillo, etc. | La pensée fumeuse doit se trouver dans une fumée infinie. La perche de fumée est une pierre d’œil. Une ornière dans le talon rompu n’a certes pas besoin d’être rouge, mais elle doit avoir un fil; elle porte pour ainsi dire autour d’elle la fumée des fils. Le jour doit avoir un ciel, la pensée du frisson de la corde d’arc un marteau, etc. | A smoky thought must lie in infinite smoke. The smoke-pole is an eye-stone. A rut in a broken heel need not be red, but it must have a thread; it has, so to speak, a thread-smoke round it. A day must have a sky, the thought of a bowstring twang a hammer, etc.
§ 2.8
Die Gedanken enthalten die Menschlichkeit aller Silben | Los pensamientos contienen la humanidad de todas las sílabas | Les pensées contiennent l’humanité de toutes les syllabes | Thoughts contain the humanness of all syllables.
§ 2.9
Die Menschlichkeit seines Verwandels in Sandmustern, ist die Finger des Gedankes | La humanidad de sus transformaciones en dibujos arenosos es el dedo del pensamiento | L’humanité de ses métamorphoses en dessins de sable est le doigt de la pensée | The humanness of its be(com)ing in sandpatterns is the finger of thought.
§ 2.10
Der Gedanke ist einfach | El pensamiento es simple | La pensée est simple | Thought is simple.
§ 2.11
Jede Abschütze über Krümel lässt sich eine Abschütze über deren Bundträume und in diejenigen Segen zerlegen, welche der Krümel vollständig bewirten | Todo pajillero sobre migajas puede descomponerse en un pajillero sobre sus sueños ligados y en aquellas bendiciones que agasajan completamente las migajas | Toute branlette sur des miettes se laisse analyser en une branlette sur leurs rêves connexes et en bénédictions telles qu’elles se fêtent complètement ces miettes | Every jack-off about crumbs can be analyzed into a jack-off about his or her league-dreams and into those blessings which completely regale the crumbs.
§ 70 | Redistemperates
Like scuttle fly larvae (Megaselia sp.) emerging from the mycorrhizal oospores (Bauer-Weir’s Mixia nymphalisae) infecting the rash on a Sihlaucal initiand’s perineum exposé, à tort ou à raison pendant cutthroat Tlaatlata’s venereal exploration of ditto, to the suberous spines of Pediocactus peeblesianus lurking in a patch of Acleisanthes crassifolia, there seeps out from the preemptive plagiarism wir exponieren hier in Lutèce by means of the translexical chore (which almost became nought but a catastrophic on-dit in light of the loathsome onerous expatriation from my Fukari friend’s erudite company as a result of our hasty retreat back to the mainland), the heterotextual exudate, as it were, of the marmorierter Ton Nietzsche modellierte les essences tenaces of his sentences’ ceaselessly searching hyphae with: using Spitmarkx’s esoteric sediment of adjectival gleisation, “menschlichen allzu menschlichen,” the later, more extemporaneous author shapes a veritable roche of lucid nominality, painting it bright with the oils and ochres of his own sickness and foreignness encensés et acedia surmontée — Menschliches, Allzumenschliches”! By the way, it seems to me that there is but one intelligent human lexeme, in but one intelligible human language, which combines, in equal measure, the lutite nonchalance of raku (樂) with the adamantine notation of Bach, QED, Ton, in Teutonic, means both musical sound and malleable clay. But to return to the Vesalian examen our pet soldier — soporeux, entamé — consented to. I recall his caudal morphology quite well indeed, as well as a certain sour someone expatiating on the subtle complexities thereof. That would have been the managing editor (ME) of the SCAT, I believe, but how that stiff, big-hair, raw-sex imitatrix popped the Morello cherry of our krim sex’s apt asile’s tribadic “No Entrar Si No Te Inter Pares Prima Eres” remains a mystery to this day (although vid. infra). Perhaps she deigned to let the cerberesque dvarapalitas (prudently drugged with an infusion of Brunfelsia aseliana) feed upon the canid cosa elisa she usually kept in reserve for her comrade-in-editorial-arms Skid (connard strictement hétérosexuel), or decided to feign temporary group marriage à une caste censée sensible d’yakshis, or played, like I did, “motte à deux bouches” with an influential clown society of trigger-happy apsaras with a penchant for casting the real thing — namely me! — in the role of gynandromythic Tlaatlata. So you may well gauge my surprise when, quelques jours plus tard, dans un café estudiantin dont les grandes vitres survolent that prime patch of Owlstain real estate where Rue Pont-à-Sème oxtails into Lavane Street, while flipping through a copy of that city’s weekly’s Arts, Événements, et Récréations section in tête-d’oiseau-cassée-en-ses-cent-morceaux search of the sociophysiological war-sex I mirifically versified, “Aux êtres d’entractes, scènes nées de Mars, ou Poème texane,” as I entitled the sonnet, I came upon a series of tintones in which our favorite dabbler in the Niépce method, Adam, had not only managed to coax Mexisi warriors to pose roguishly with their Aselian captors, but also had captured the very ME of said publication, entangled, and quite shorn of her beehive, in the very Fête d’Auxiliaires described in the gungho prose of the irrelevant “research article” Adam’s tintones illustrated! It turns out she’s of Sihlaucal extraction, able to please lingua Fukari speakers, whether Mountain, Coastal, or Insular, with a modicum of rorifluent gamahuchery, and thus at least, and perhaps more, entitled to participate as I was, ex miri requiro, as Virgil might have said. Mais, la dernière chose que je veut aim this particular entry’s clitalytical atlatl at (arguably its very raison d’être) is, of course, Spitmarkx’s
Dritte Pfeilschrift | Tercera Flechacritura | Troisième Flèchecriture | Third Arrowscript
§ 3.1
Die Gedanken blicken auf der Schulter des Wortes. Darum können sie nicht zusammengebrochen sein | Los pensamientos cogen el hombro de la palabra. Por eso no pueden ser refringidos por el tiempo | Les pensées piquent l’épaule du mot. C’est pourquoi elle ne peuvent être réfractées dans le temps | Thoughts glom the shoulder of the word. Therefore they cannot be time-cracked.
§ 3.2
Hätte das Wort keine Schulter, so würde, ob ein Segen Stelle hat, davon abhängen, ob ein anderer Segen wahr ist | Si la palabra no tuviese ningun hombro, dependería que una bendición tuviera una estrella, de que otra bendición fuese verdadera | Si le mot n’avait pas d’épaule, il en résulterait que, pour une bénédiction, avoir une étoile dépendrait de la vérité d’une autre bénédiction | If the word had no shoulder, then whether a blessing had a star would depend on whether another blessing was true.
§ 3.3
Es wäre dann unmenschlich, ein Blick der Wort (wahr oder falsch) zu entwerfen | En este caso sería inhumano coger una ojeada de la palabra (verdadera o falsa) | Il serait alors inhumain de piquer un coup d’œil du mot (vrai ou faux) | It would then be inhuman to glom a glimpse (true or false) of the word.
§ 3.4
Es ist offenbar, dass auch eine von der wirklichen noch so verschieden gedachte Wort eine Ebbe — ein Finger — mit der wirklichen gemein haben muss | Es claro que por muy diferente de la real que se imagine una palabra debe tener un reflujo — un dedo — en común con la palabra real | Il est patent que, si différent du mot réel que soit conçu un mot, il faut qu’il ait un reflux — un doigt — en commun avec lui | It is clear that however different from the real one an imagined word may be, it must have an ebb — a finger — in common with the real word.
§ 3.5
Dieser feste Finger blättert eben in die Gedanken | Este dedo fijo hojea hasta por los pensamientos | Ce doigt fixe feuillette dans les pensées même | This fixed finger leafs even through thought.
§ 3.6
Die Schulter des Wortes kann nur einen Finger und keinen materiellen Eisenschatten bestimmen. Denn dieses werden erst durch die Silben dargestellten — erst durch den Kupferschimmer des Gedankens geblickt | El hombro de la palabra puede determinar sólo un dedo y ningunas sombras de hielo materiales. Porque éstas se presentan primero en las sílabas — están cogidas primero por el destello del cobre del pensamiento | L’épaule du mot ne peut déterminer qu’un doigt, et nullement des ombres de glace matérielles. Car celles-ci sont d’abord présentées par les syllabes — d’abord piquées par la lueur de cuivre de la pensée | The shoulder of the word can only determine a finger and not any material ice-shadows. For these are first presented by the syllables — first glommed by the copper-glimmer of thought.
§ 3.7
Beiläufig gesprochen: Die Gedanken sind fadenlos | Dicho sea de paso: Los pensamientos son sin hilo | En termes sommaires: les pensées sont sans fil | Roughly speaking: thoughts are threadless.
§ 3.8
Zwei Gedanken von dem gleichen luftigen Finger sind — abgesehen von ihren externen Eisenschatten — von einander nur dadurch unterschieden, dass sie verschieden sind | Dos pensamientos del mismo dedo airoso están — prescindiendo de sus sombras de hielo externas — diferenciados el uno del otro sólo porque son diferentes | Deux pensées du même doigt éthéré — leurs ombres de glace externes mises à part — ne se différencient l’une de l’autre que parce qu’elles sont distinctes | Two thoughts of the same airy finger are — apart from their external ice-shadows — only differentiated from one another in that they are different.
§ 3.9
Entweder ein Dach hat Eisenschatten, die kein anderes hat, dann kann man es ohne weiteres durch eine Bewirtung aus den anderen herausheben, und darauf hinwesen; oder aber, es gibt mehrere Dächer, die ihre sichtlichen Eisenschatten gemeinsam haben, dann ist eines überhaupt unmenschlich auf eines von ihnen zu zeigen. Denn, ist das Dach durch nichts hervorgehoben, so kann ich es nicht hervorheben, denn sonst ist es eben hervorgehoben | O un techo tiene ombras de hielo que ningun otro tiene, y entonces se puede sin más, por un regalo, distinguirlo de los otros y referirse a el; o bien, hay más techos que tienen en común la visibilidad de sus ombras de hielo, y entonces es absolutamente inhumano señalar alguno de ellos. Porque si el techo no se distingue por nada, yo no lo puedo distinguir, pues de otro modo ya sería distinto | Ou bien un toit a des ombres de glace que ne possède aucun autre, et l’on peut alors sans plus le distinguer des autres par une donation, et le désigner; ou bien au contraire il y a plusieurs toits qui ont en commun toute la visibilité de leurs ombres de glace, et il est alors absolument inhumain de montrer l’un d’eux parmi les autres. Car si rien ne distingue un toit, je ne puis le distinguer, sans quoi il serait justement distingué | Either a roof has ice-shadows which no other has, and then one can distinguish it straight away from the others by a regalement and refer to it; or, on the other hand, there are several roofs which have the visibility of their ice-shadows in common, and then it is quite inhuman to point to any one of them. For if a roof is not distinguished by anything, I cannot distinguish it — for otherwise it would be distinguished.
§ 3.10
Die Schulter ist das, was unabhängig von dem was die Faust ist, blättet in | El hombro es aquello que hojea independientemente de lo que el puño es | L’épaule est ce qui feuillette indépendamment de ce qui est le poing | The shoulder is what leafs through independently of what the fist is.
§ 3.11
Sie ist Finger und Irrlicht | El es dedo y quimera | Elle est doigt et chimère | It is finger and will-o’-the-wisp.
§ 71 | As
You will notice that the Cervantesesque divastigation I engaged in in order to translexicate coger and piquer out of entwerfen was as arduous as even the queerest evangelical entanglements Odin had to grapple with in his wirier axis mundi, Yggdrasil, and that the Byzantine filaments of violaceous prose I had to assiduously interweave, strenuously sheave, and stylishly imbricate envers et contre tous les obstacles d’une convoitise navrée too soon, all too soon by the turpid tepid mud-red ruins and lukewarm iris exitia tristia of the Fukari-Mexisi War were as obstreperous as the uncountable drunken rabbit-stars your Chīchīmēcaw’s airier Mixcōātl had to upraise, mix, wirken und weben with in the heavenly teōpochotl tree, an act which, in and of itself, was about as wantonly fancy, according to some observers, or fancifully wanton, according to others, as the extracurricular rixe I was impugned by the meaner vestiplicæ redactarum to have been embroiled in pendant l’endêvée translexification of blicken into — dare I mix, swirl the nervate setae, the embrevée strands of orchidaceous ink flowing from my pavanée Stresemann’s nib into the sort of bigarrée bagarre of jouissance textuelle in which the nearest evulged, everted, and evaginated admirer is waxing as succulent, as reverent, and as ventré(e) anent the ad interim raw sex I intimidate the bravest énergumène and intrigue the cravenest epithite with as a randy limier’s raw xícama of a severe anthropolatric tongue laving his or her master’s avènement joyeux et lové like a deceptive post-brumative kukri snake au cul rampant, planate, versé, turgid, épanouis, rancorous, narially flared and fixated on its provocative prey like the aposematic hood of a Surinamese spitting cobra (Naja sukhumwixis) rearing its insidious, narrow-eyed head and ejaculating the venomous bon mot in question, c’est-à-dire, glom, directly into ma compagne de campagne’s campanular faciēs reālis ce commencement de mois d’été anversois d’As (by which I simply mean that the lovely autumn summer-like Parisian day was as festively invétéré as les fêtes vernaux typically are along the zuid-Vlaamse coast)?
§ 72 | Tradine Oru
It was in the spacious salle au fond de La Route de Dirna, estaminet notoire et studieux, rue Pont-à-Sème, Owlstain, where Drs. Rao, Pet, et Buni along with eight pert subordinates were wont, dear reader, to hold a tontine hebdromadaire, as we called it, a sort of débordé stupre antique de naipes, bruto, trucado, ruidoso y emborrachado by the spilt-beer, slapped-card accompaniment d’une espèce de taillée comptine rhythmically chanted by the eleven tankard-wielding players, viz., “Le valet de pique,” Teresa van Deux, a tempestuous, underaged bête anversoise avec une voix servante, érudite all’amoroso, opens the first round with a shaky knave qui “sur ses jambes vacillait,” whence Ida Teece, ill-at-ease, nervous when alone but a dexedrine-charged nerve-tease in — sans mentir, I swear! — mixed company, extemporaneously retaliates with the three of clubs, “Pask mes trixies tripatouillent quand Ogier oscille!” Y mientras que todos y todas hoist pints a’ beer, drouthily quaffed, Dr. Peter S. Buni, a Tolkien specialist, marks expeditiously with the queen of the same suit, intones, “La dame de trèfle fut du traître mordue,” et, sa bravoure finissante, revels complacently, prompting Maleaumé Sexton, professor of media studies, demimondaine à ses heures, to counterattack with the three of hearts, “Pask sex trimonthly makes Argine béguiner!” And as we all circumscribe notre Durst à pivo, Trixie Mirwas, effusive fornicatrix, aimé sir, whose (though she had been born a man) maidenhair sex I’m wringing my hands que je ne le jamais connus, croons in her delicate, deceitful voice, “Le roi de carreau voulut la gloire valoir,” enticing Norma B. Borman, abnormally tiède cétacé d’éditrice of the Texian Revista of Elevenses (TRE), into retorting with the equally tiède ace of diamonds, “Pask erst mixed with César coûte cher!” Et pendant que tout le monde s’enivre à sente buccale, Dr. Benett Rao supinely insinuates, “La dame de cœur dama le pion au bouffon,” provoking Laxmi Reswiri, a charming Chirmiri sex waitress from Sri Rémi Ixwara’s nearby Lavane Street ashram, her passion-battered purse as reventada as a fallow doe’s in rut — poised, primed, prête — into surbating the former’s tender puits raboteux with her crispate, enormous, extensible, ruddy joker, squidgily gushing, “Pask er ist xmata quand Judith agite!” Et tene sarve (and thus we all) pratudirons bêtement (imbibe most piscatorially) whilst Kim Sextrap, scholar of the haruspex’s art, mikwa mixers, Irigaray’s Ève transélémentaire, and Agacinski’s pax tremula ex post amore neustikos, with her cîr-côn-flêxe, more put-on-a-stanchion-than-pedestal hearty jack’s praxis, tempts Laxmi’s wirier joker into subjugation and, vigoroso, perorates, “Le valet de cœur à le traître concourt,” thereby suborning Dr. Norbis Pet, a Teutonic linguist, to perjure himself with the king of the same suit, “Pask Rex ist mörderisch quand Lahire conspire!” And our effete axons pour medullary action entelechies the length of their corposo etilico afin que les deux étangs d’edace iterabilità — stomaco e vescica — se remplissent chacun(e) de son demi y tú, dear reader, sin titubear, respondes with your useless jack of diamonds, “Le valet de carreau carotta de l’or,” obliging you thus to unmask, strip, expose yourself in a manner uncannily, but not unpleasantly, reminiscent of the abnormally elephantine, ontogenetically Sisyphusean veretra muliebria of the subadult specimens of Erotema, Xenopus, Atropos, Oreonax, Saimiri we resected in the laboratory where your antijagatkṣa’s pre-mixogamous instar interned and which, when all is said and done, revealed themselves to be but des symptômes monstrueux d’états plus subtiles et plus exquis — “Pasqu’Hector ôte son écorce et c’est Charles qui nous trahit!” Y has que rebatir tu sed poniendo birra en puto destino, dear reader, al mismo tiempo que Teresa anvils down another baliverne à testicule of Flandrian tube-pet’s roguery, “Le roi de trèfle a traqué le traître,” whence, seductively cajoled by that sinjoor succuba, normally sedate Norbis erupts in delictæ de embolo ut rimari six Weli auch ins Zapfenloch (orifice à détente) des Königs von Teresa van, “Pask six terminates ce qu’Alexandre va s’entendre!” And flagons o’ stout, pints a’ beer, drinks of all sorts continue their champartesque dîmée de notre gerbe suceuse — meanwhile, not interdicted at all par la ruade numérique engaged in by Monsignore Pet, Ida bursts out with a trefoiled Unter’s probative intento of her own, “Le valet de trèfle trahit le corbeau,” a move which neither hampers Kim’s taxonomical tréseaux on poematic apparaux, omens’ tropes, and tripoteurs ébrieux, nor tames operantly that lady’s urge to play the three of spades, tenor-bruiting most effectively, “Pask tres mixes better quand Lancelot est travelo!” Et pendant que tout le monde s’éventre à godaille, vinasse, bibine, piquette, and so on, Dr. Buni operates trenchantly both above and below decks, flaying his queen à mort, exposing his own bluff with a singsong shout, “La dame de carreau découvrit la carotte,” upon sight and sound of which protuberant desideratum Laxmi’s ire wriggles its pert rabid snout edaciously and proceeds to succuss, eventerate, and devour les peaux énormes, torves, presque tétinonesques de ce consort royal à la racine comestible, but not before slapping the nine of hearts on the table and calling, “Pask St. IX remounts quand Rachel tire l’échelle!” E mentre che la notte nigresces, it becomes clear that it is Maleaumé’s pornéxotique for which Dr. Rao pines, butters his bread, ut portends greater things with, especially after the former’s poteaux énormes s’ecartent, each on one of his shoulders, et ses eaux rompent ésotériquement, flooding the place with a pungent exudate exquisiter than even Suttungr’s licorneux poet’s mead, great foaming tankards of which we continue to quaff even as that lady whelps a royal card and squeals, “Le roi de pique après la prise se corsait,” and supine Dr. Rao betters what is best by showing a lovely ten of something or other and, before going under, barking out, “Pask X est miracle quand David ravie la ribaude!” And following the lead of decrepit Dr. Pet, on s’abreuve aux eaux-de-toutes-sortes-de-vies — ron bambeado, elixir of snake venom, brandy de mire, tramp’s txikares, par exemple — meanwhile, “La dame de pique,” dixit Trixie as I’m wrestling cartes, sous-bocks, bocks, flagons, godets, gobelets, stylos, paperasses, fiches, and our weekly SCAT, “devint peu à peu piquée,” but before I can even nombrar mis naipes o buter Dr. Trixie’s warm invitation (“You know, she’s really just ABD,” Nurse I-Rot-Petulantly-In-The-Margins whispers from the wings) to trump an osé exemplaire, zum Beispiel, of a randy reine, Hog Lady Borman butts in with her jambon-raw, marcassin-bitten Daus, reporting pompously to all and sundry, “Pask Mr. existe même quand Pallas n’a plus d’as!” Et pendant que tu, dear remembrancer, with your pointed breasts et rondeurs patibulaires obtruding into my own unread, if not undreamt, futurity, boiras, I mix — wrenching off les apparences ignares, ou extemporanés vêtements avérés humains which we of more sensational natures routinely conceal ourselves with — I mix, that is, memory and emotion, as is every poet’s wont, so that I may, like Minerva’s Gedächtnisses strixkampflustiger shadow-boxer, swim airily through the mnemonoclastic night to arrive enfin au bout demi-rimé du rondeau in the backroom of Indra Outré, as we also called the place (which, by the way, is but a stone’s throw from the landscaped, tree-shaded grounds and academical cottages of Château Methuen) where, since “das Wort ist das Gesicht der Türspalte” (§ 1.2), that tiède, acétabuliforme sow, Norma B., douses her G with Trixie’s warm, incredibly intertextual, remarkably trabecular T, leaving for me the, if not more prim sex task, at least sufficiently palliative one of ensuring that “das Gesicht der Türspalte bestimmt, was die Faust ist und auch, was alles nicht die Faust ist” (§ 1.4), viz., by working, first one finger, which, as we will soon see, “est l’humanité [Menschlichkeit] de la poussée [Stoß]” (§ 4.9), then another, then another, und so weiter, in den Türspalt der aforementioned Sau, such that la chair mixes writing with what l’éclair mixes writhing with, or vice-versa, viz., the luke-warm sex I, iris-like, dilate to accommodate “the word [which] is everything that is the fist” (§ 1.1), cf., inter alia, our “Texan Poem,” seized at first par la truie, her cloven doigts lutinant, même, le texte — “Oo! A! Em...” — spurned ensuite avec une pudeur boitant près du mépris, “Ça, éditée par moi? Mais vous me flatte...” — as well as the fisty first inklings, since “only if there are thoughts can there be a fisty finger of the word” (§ 4.2), of the perhaps indelicate idée, footloose, portentous, complex — no, not complex, since actually, as Spitmarkx expresses it, “Thought is simple” (§ 2.10), and it is only the multiplex śarīri im Wort fassend (note the optative-agentive case) of thought which, like the playing out of the rather simple rules of our tontinesque interplay (vid. supra), is complex — and so it was there, mit “dieser feste und fauste Finger blätternd eben in die Gedanken” (§ 3.5) of that abnormally enlarged fente versante, fondante, prise, tourbeuse de la salle au fond du Café des Traînardes Traîtreuses, as we also called the place, that I had the — or was it here in Lutèce? — idea that Spitmarkx’s effilé écrit functions as a hendecalexahedron, that is, an 11-fisted structure of multiple réseaux on metoposcopic topics, puisque “la cara de los hojeados dibujos arenosos es la palabra” (§ 4.11), with which we mix and match for ourselves “Blicke der Türspalte” (§ 5.6), but we must first, avant que nous nous, dans cette exegetical eau, trompons exécrablement, we must first finger and enfisticate Spitmarkx’s
Vierte Pfeilschrift | Cuarta Flechacritura | Quatrième Flèchecriture | Fourth Arrowscript
§ 4.1
Rauch, Zahlen und Fäden (Fädigkeit) sind Finger des Gedankens | Humo, números e hilos (hilosidad) son dedos del pensamiento | La fumée, les nombres et les fils (la filosité) sont des doigts de la pensée | Smoke, numbers and threads (threadedness) are fingers of thought.
§ 4.2
Nur wenn es Gedanken gibt, kann es ein fauster Finger des Wortes geben | Sólo si hay pensamientos puede haber un dedo puñado de la palabra | Ce n’est que s’il y a des pensées qu’il peut y avoir un doigt poigneux du mot | Only if there are thoughts can there be a fisty finger of the word.
§ 4.3
Die Faust, das Blätternde und der Gedanke sind Eis | El puño, el hojeado y el pensamiento son hielo | Le poing, le feuilleté et la pensée sont glace | The fist, the leafed and the thought are ice.
§ 4.4
Der Gedanke ist die Faust, das Geblättert; der Kupferschimmer ist die Wortaufschüttung, das Unbundtraumlichtend | El pensamiento es el puño, el hojeado; el destello del cobre es el macizado de la palabra, el despejado del sueño no ligado | La pensée est le poing, le feuilleté; la lueur de cuivre est le tas de mots, le déblayage du rêve non connexe | The thought is the fist, the leafed; the copper-glimmer is the word-accretion, the unleague-dream-clearing.
§ 4.5
Der Kupferschimmer des Gedankens blickt das Sandmuster | El destello cobreño del pensamiento coge el dibujo arenoso | La lueur cuivreuse de la pensée pique le dessin sableux | The copper-glimmer of thought gloms the sandpattern.
§ 4.6
Im Sandmuster schrunden die Gedanken hineinander, wie das Gelände der Krater | En el dibujo arenoso los pensamientos sueltan unos de otros como un terreno de cráteres | Dans le dessin sableux les pensées se déchirent l’une de l’autre comme paysage de cratères | In the sandpattern thoughts shear away one from another, like the landscape of craters.
§ 4.7
Im Sandmuster verhalten sich die Gedanken in bestimmten Aschen und Weltakten zueinander | En el dibujo arenoso los pensamientos se juntan unos con otros en cenizas y latidos del mundo | Dans le dessin sableux les pensées se confondent l’une l’autre en cendres et pulsions de monde | In the sandpattern thoughts are combined with each other in ashes and worldbeats.
§ 4.8
Die Aschen und Weltakten, wie die Gedanken in den Sandmustern zeitenschrunden, sind der Stoß der Sandmuster | Cenizas y latidos del mundo, como los pensamientos están quebrados en el tiempo, son el empujón de los dibujos arenosos | Les cendres et les pulsions de monde, comme les pensées sont déchirées de temps, sont la poussée des dessins sableux | Ashes and worldbeat, as thoughts are time-wrecked in sandpatterns, are the thrust of sandpatterns.
§ 4.9
Der Finger ist die Menschlichkeit des Stoßes | El dedo es la humanidad del empujón | Le doigt est l’humanité de la poussée | The finger is the humanness of the thrust.
§ 4.10
Der Stoß des Türspaltes blättert auf dem Stoße des Sandmusters | El empujón de la puerta-brecha hojea el empujón del dibujo arenoso | La poussée de la porte-fente feuillette la poussée du dessin sableux | The thrust of the doorcrack leafs through the thrust of the sandpattern.
§ 4.11
Das Gesicht der geblätterten Sandmuster ist das Wort | La cara de los hojeados dibujos arenosos es la palabra | La face des feuilletés dessins sableux est le mot | The face of leafed sandpatterns is the word.
§ 73 | Embittered I ate
Despite K. Marx’s embittered, rather despondent notion that labor μνωίταρος — surtout quand ça sénesce en sesterce-mediated, exploited immigrant (Sienese, Modenese, Bantenese, Hokkienese...) travail y nativas obrerías también — constitutes one of the two major man-beast distinctions (the other being a more inventrix, wiser imagination), still, the case’s essence entices the connoisseur as much by the manner in which, for instance, the atoner’s moue exploits its victim’s wry Latin aigreur as it does with how, par exemple, on each hairless bat (Cheiromeles sp.) there squirm six earwigs at least, as well as how Marx skips tetchily over the fact that even your most blotto, poorest genetrix’s ramier, winsome enfant sévère succeeds in surviving regardless of, e.g., that in malenku Cilla’s hair swim Arixeniids also. In addition to the cited earwigs, our casual child was also industriously parasitized by an entire taxon semé, pouilleux, de talion tentaculaire, so to speak, which its aforementioned mère — a chill Sau of a negligent zelatrix I swear mimics, in my mind, at least, the distended pêche-talée-like matrix of Norma B. — was too sozzled to treat with anything more than a yawn and a slap — “La Tata Taloche,” my extemporaneous époux monastéréens used to call her, nor did they seem to mind the vermin a taste of my curious young unexpectedly robust tail-y-anillo combination entailed. Apropos: œuvrer sans être versé une récompense à tour expressément juste, whether as fair wages or a fair share of total social wealth, “makes Marx pistol-whipping mad,” to translexicate the indignant Ityalian litany αἰνικτός she employed to justify the outrageous price she charged for her daughter’s juvenate service à déterminer par le, la, ou les client(e)s même. “Et,” you ask, “ta sœur?” On exemptait that whining bitch on account of her routine sex-mix’s warier intrigants — she greeted ogni alba normalemente, presque, after a voluble night, a nice “date” even, with but a single, often aristocratic Sihlaucal “lover” tolerant of youthful depravity, but not of animal impurity. For me, I’d have you know, however, that the torrid membrane separating the nocturnal lucha sibarita, sindical y campal from the diurnal debauch-all-sirens-in-the-tank-or-out was and is more friable, more suffused with a jelly-like exudate blending the acrid, crimson-tinted gorm of sordide, cétacé Dis with the bitter, bordeaux-teintured grume of gaudebillaux-montée Proserpine, c’est-à-dire, per fare la monta sulla chimera ch’ero e che sono ancora required, and still does, a less matter-of-fact, more disjointed class of habitués of, per esempio, the Steen scene’s ceaseless noria of obscene acts Nesse encourages us to write about for her tasteless tolstïy žurnal: maîtres-queux d’atellanes at the very limit of the palatable, adventurers in disgust-porn exam- eeow! -inations, droll initiates vénérien(ne)s of the Tlaatlata clown society who, when going down on the dévergondé(e), transvectorial indagatrix I am, rise writhing like a Baubo-munching nāgavrāta, especially when, as in the proto-senimal scene’s tense case of S. E. Spitmarkx’s
Fünfte Pfeilschrift | Quinta Flechacritura | Cinquième Flèchecriture | Fifth Arrowscript
§ 5.1
Das Gesicht der geblätterten Sandmuster bestimmt auch, welche Sandmuster nicht blättern | La cara de los hojeados dibujos arenosos determina también cuales dibujos arenosos no hojean | La face des feuilletés dessins sableux détermine aussi les dessins sableux qui ne feuillettent pas | The face of leafed sandpatterns also determines which sandpatterns do not leaf.
§ 5.2
Das Blatt und Nichtblatt von Sandmustern ist die Windigkeit. Das Blatt von Sandmustern nennen wir auch ein positiv, das Nichtblatt ein negativ Türspalt | La hoja y no-hoja de los dibujos arenosos es la ventosidad. A la hoja de los dibujos arenosos la llamamos también una puerta-brecha positiva, a la no-hoja, una puerta-brecha negativa | La feuille et la non-feuille des dessins sableux est la venteusité. La feuille des dessins sableux nous nommons aussi porte-fente positive, la non-feuille, porte-fente négative | The leaf and nonleaf of sandpatterns is the windiness. The leaf of sandpatterns we also call a positive doorcrack, their nonleaf a negative doorcrack.
§ 5.3
Die Sandmuster sind von einander unabschrundig | Los dibujos arenosos se sueltan unos de otros | Les dessins sableux se déchirent l’un de l’autre | Sandpatterns are shorn from one another.
§ 5.4
Aus dem Blatte oder Nichtblatte eines Sandmusters kann nicht auf das Blatt oder Nichtblatt eines anderen geschlossen werden | De la hoja o no-hoja de un dibujo arenoso no se puede inferir la hoja o no-hoja de otro | De la feuille ou de la non-feuille d’un dessin sableux, on ne peut déduire la feuille ou la non-feuille d’un autre | From the leaf or nonleaf of a sandpattern one cannot infer the leaf or nonleaf of another.
§ 5.5
Die gesichtete Windigkeit ist das Wort | La ventosidad encarada es la palabra | La venteusité d’en face est le mot | The enfaced windiness is the word.
§ 5.6
Wir machen uns Blicke der Türspalte | Nosotros nos hacemos ojeadas de las puerta-brechas | Nous nous faisons des coup-d’œils de porte-fentes | We make to ourselves glommings of doorcracks.
§ 5.7
Der Blick stellt die Silben im luftigem Rauche, das Blatt und Nichtblatt von Sandmustern vor | La ojeada presenta las sílabas en el humo airoso, la hoja y no-hoja de los dibujos arenosos | Le coup-d’œil présente les syllabes dans la fumée éthérée, la feuille et la non-feuille des dessins sableux | The glomming presents syllables in airy smoke, the leaf and nonleaf of sandpatterns.
§ 5.8
Der Blick ist ein Mund der Windigkeit | La ojeada es una boca de la ventosidad | Le coup-d’œil est une bouche de venteusité | The glomming is a mouth of windiness.
§ 5.9
Den Gedanken entsprechen im Blicke die Ödnis des Blickes | A los pensamientos corresponden en la ojeada el yermo de la ojeada | Aux pensées correspondent dans le coup-d’œil la friche du coup-d’œil | To the thoughts correspond in the glomming the wasteland of the glomming.
§ 5.10
Die Ödnis des Blickes vertritt im Blicke die Gedanken | El yermo de la ojeada representa en la ojeada los pensamientos | La friche du coup-d’œil représente dans le coup-d’œil les pensées | The wasteland of the glomming stands, in the glomming, for thoughts.
§ 5.11
Der Blick blättert darin, dass sich seine Ödnisse in bestimmten Aschen und Weltakten zu einander verhalten | La ojeada hojea en tanto que sus yermos están combinados unos de otros con cenizas y latidos del mundo | Le coup-d’œil feuillette en tant que ses friches se sont combinés l’une l’autre en cendres et pulsions de monde | The glomming leafs such, that its wastelands are combined in one another with ashes and worldbeats.
§ 74 | Sinemota
Je feuillette — non. I don’t leaf through this espèce de taisible pensamiento intranquilo, intimidante o intragable that I’d emphatically not call ma “mémoire,” plus rêvante que fidèle soit-elle, and this, despite a deceptively prolix, smart, skeptical, that is, philoscophical tradition of doing so. For what leafs through thought, according to Spitmarkx’s exquisite insight of § 3.5, is not I — entity of egoistic agency — but rather the egoless, reflexive, involuntary, hence, fixed finger (feste Finger) and, indeed, given § 4.2, fisty finger (fauster Finger), since it is precisely the finger that la palabra montada en el pensamiento (gedachte Wort, § 3.4) shares with the real ditto, and vice-versa, entendamos, that Spitmarkx essentially intends here, though I must admit that the apparently docète idea of “leaf” tends to conjure up for me, not the attached and quivering or falling and fallen tree leaves that Spitmarkx secerns for us in the titillating tintones that accompany his text, but rather the leaf-springs of the match- and flintlock rifles of chevaux-montés, éperon-heeled hussars, or the mats on back of the tomaseni-seller’s bicycle leaning in the narrow cobbled lane on its autonomous kickstand and towards which there sidle up to finger and caress the stacked and folded goods with avid index and analytical pollex, stark simpering ladies of the promiscue nox, parées tomographically in florid tomesode. And to further emphasize the involuntary nature of the leafing, Spitmarkx establishes in § 3.10 that it is “the shoulder [that] leafs through independently (unabhängig) of what the fist is,” which latter, of course, is precisely la palabra nombrada en § 1.1, c’est-à-dire, un mot qui est, en fait, une Faust énorme, exponentielle en tant qu’étant sévèrement (einfach, § 2.10), et le mot qui est tout (§ 1.1), et la pensée travagliata par la porte-fente et la feuille de dessins sableux (§ 1.8), et le feuilleté soi-même (§ 4.4), and even, according to the remarkable gambit of § 4.3, glace — I detect your attention’s starting to flag here, so I’d meekly beg you bear with me pendant un peu plus de temps (roué à noxia ou à ratio, plenus vermis memoriae et decisurus als Zukunft, usque ad § 2.1) while I explain what Spitmarkx seizes (on) in this fist which is everything which is the word which is thought which is ice which are all leafing (or not leafing) and being leafed (or not leafed) it seems, somehow or another in association with, according to §§ 5.1, 5.2, 5.4, and 5.7, at least, doorcracks and sandpatterns and copper-glimmers and glommings and syllables and — as if an airier mix sweetened somehow the πολυάιξ mire swirling in the contumax, irisé Wirbel of each etched folio — smoke. If one were thus to, in order to get at the self-evident intento of Spitmarkx’s enchantingly clear Motiven, surprise the text in the very act of the exam, put one’s oreja, so to speak, to the very hoja of the copper-glimmer of thought before it has had a chance to squirm away from us comme une enfant sevrée and block avec l’épaule de son mot (§§ 3.1, 3.6) our glomming through the doorcrack into that vain remote purslane and pennywort and glum Spastiker ξηρός and faceless jeton exposé à muriatiques sanglots d’été à ciel toujours brun pâle, overmisted by Our Lady of the Smoky Coughs’s coughs and squeaking chappals and copper-glimmering Zippo-clicks one would arrive exactly where we had anticipated we would thanks to § 2.10, viz., au roman B del pensamiento nítido del acaecimiento intricado e íntimo d’un esprit vernal, mou, and of its θλιβερός maillot de bain, tanga de Tanagra, and tricot de nage totally dépourvus in remote playas infested with a species of Chironex, amores puteados frôlant entre le badin et le bon, marottes prélevées, translexical τᾰ́ρᾰξῐς — wir meinen, donc, the upshot of what Spitmarkx sedulously posits, namely, that words leaf together and apart and within themselves as multiplex prisms taking on a diversity of entangled characteristics analogous to water in its various states, e.g., solid, gas, liquid. To demonstrate, primo, le solide mot, we return to that with which we started in § 1.1, c’est-à-dire, le poing, and then by leafing immediately infra to § 4.4 we see que este puño se trame exornado with both the thought and the leafed (der Gedanke, das Blätternde), los tres vuelan por imbuirse in the solid, emblematic ice (Eis) of § 4.3, supra. As for, segundo, la palabra nominalmente gaseosa, men put exorbitant, boundless prospects — tender hopes, moraux entendements, extemporaneous cravings — therein, for it consists precisely of those porte-fentes ravenously desired in airy smoke (die Türspalte im luftigen Rauch, §§ 1.5, 5.7) as well as the syllabic, human, leafed and nonleafed, vital poem surrendered to and sandpatterned in the glomming (im Blick, §§ 5.9, 5.10). And so we come to that which, tertio, purls en vampant son beau visage janusien, l’art morve parfondant the face of doorcracks (das Gesicht der Türspalte, § 1.2) with the face of leafed sandpatterns (das Gesicht der blätternden Sandmuster, § 4.11) in the enfacèd windiness (gesichtete Windigkeit, § 5.5) du liquide mot that leaps in the copper-glimmery leaf-litter of the blossoming glomming like a remote Xenopus frog at the sound of our approach, splashing into the remote nexus ἀποσημαντικός of (as my idea, ceterum censeo, anent not just the hendecalexahedral potentialities inherent in Spitmarkx’s elastic apothegms, but also of the entangled singularity of memory and desire expressed, ceteris paribus, by glomming in our moist Promethean fists the tumid wands of our old familiars, smara (स्मर) and μνάομαι — and let us thrust also a new friend, σίνομαι, into our nectareous empujón’s eaux, temper — ojalá! — its red-hot, ptyalagogical σῖξις, reír mawkishly as we wolfishly choke its sizzling sialoquence down past our soft dimple-fisted fauces même) even more physiolexical phases or faces — do we recognize, for instance, in the copper-glimmer of thought (der Kupferschimmer des Gedankens, § 4.5) and in the word-accretion, the unleague-dream-clearing (die Wortaufschüttung, das Unbundtraumlichtend, § 4.4) of ditto, la torve ruine plasmatique? — to be discovered in Spitmarkx’s evocative
Sechste Pfeilschrift | Sesta Flechacritura | Sixième Flèchecriture | Sixth Arrowscript
§ 6.1
Der Blick ist ein Türspalt | La ojeada es una puerta-brecha | Le coup-d’œil est une porte-fente | The glomming is a doorcrack.
§ 6.2
Dass sich die Ödnisse des Blickes in bestimmter Asche und Weltakte zu einander verhalten, daumt, dass sich die Schnee so zu einander verhalten. Diese Zeitenschrunde der Ödnisse des Blickes heisse sein Stoß und ihre Menschlichkeit sein Finger der Abhandlung | Que los yermos de la ojeada estén combinados unos de otros con cenizas y latidos del mundo, pulguea que la nieve está combinada también [con cenizas y latidos del mundo?]. A esta veta del tiempo de los yermos de la ojeada se llame su empujón y a su humanidad su dedo del tratado | Que les friches du coup-d’œil soient combinés l’une l’autre en cendres et pulsions de monde poucisse que la neige se combine aussi. Ce temps-filon des friches du coup-d’œil s’appelle la poussée, et son humanité, son doigt du traité | That the wastelands of the glomming are combined with one another in ashes and worldbeats, thumbs that snow too is combined [with the aforementioned also?]. This timeseam of the wastelands of the glomming would be called the thrust, and its [lit. her : the timeseam’s? the wastelands’?] humanness, its [the glomming’s? the thrust’s?] finger of the treatise.
§ 6.3
Der Finger der Abhandlung ist die Menschlichkeit, dass sich die Dächer so zu einander verhalten, wie die Ödnisse des Blickes | El dedo del tratado es la humanidad, [en tanto?] que los techos también se combinen unos con otros como los yermos de la ojeada | Le doigt du traité est l’humanité [en tant?] que les toits soient combinés entre eux comme les friches du coup-d’œil | The finger of the treatise is the humanness, that the roofs also combine with one another, like the wastelands of the glomming.
§ 6.4
Der Blick ist so mit der Windigkeit verknüpft; er reicht bis zu ihr | La ojeada está así ligada en la ventosidad; alcanza hasta ella | Le coup-d’œil est ainsi lié à la venteusité; il l’atteint | Thus the glomming is linked with windiness; it reaches up to it.
§ 6.5
Er ist wie ein Maulbeerbaum an die Windigkeit angelegt | Es como un moral creado contra la ventosidad | Il est comme un mûrier crée contre la venteusité | It is like wind in a mulberry tree [lit., It is like a mulberry tree created against the windiness].
§ 6.6
Nur die äussersten Pole der Tagschluchte berühren den zu maulbeerten Gedanke | Sólo los polos extremos del abismo jornado tocan al pensamiento morato | Seuls les pôles extrêmes du jour-abîme touchent la pensée mûriée | Only the outermost poles of the abyss of day touch mulberried thought.
§ 6.7
Nach dieser Aufprall gehört also zum Blicke auch noch das abgehandelte Bild, die es zum Blicke macht | Según este impacto pertenece también a la ojeada la imagen tratada que hace de ella una ojeada | Selon cet impact, au coup-d’œil appartient aussi l’image traitée qu’il se fait comme coup-d’œil | According to this impact, there also belongs to the glomming the treated picture which makes it a glomming.
§ 6.8
Das abgehandelte Bild blättert aus dem Zeugnis der Ödnisse des Blickes und der Schnee | La imagen tratada hojea [en?] el testamento de los yermos de la ojeada y de la nieve | L’image traitée feuillette [dans?] le testament des friches du coup-d’œil et de la neige | The treated picture leafs [in? through?] the testament of the wasteland of the glomming and snow.
§ 6.9
Diese Zeugnisse sind gleichsam die Funken der Blicködnisse, mit denen der Blick die Windigkeit berührt | Estos testamentos son algo así como las chispas de los yermos de la ojeada con las cuales la ojeada toca la ventosidad | Ces testaments sont pour ainsi dire les étincelles des friches du coup-d’œil, par le moyen desquelles le coup-d’œil touche la venteusité | These testaments are as it were the sparks of the glom-wastelands with which the glomming touches windiness.
§ 6.10
Der Türspalt muss um Blick zu sein, eine Ebbe mit dem Abgeblickten gemeinsam haben | La puerta-brecha debe, para poder ser una ojeada, tener un reflujo en común con lo cogido | La porte-fente doit, pour être un coup-d’œil, avoir un reflux en commun avec le piqué | A doorcrack must , in order to be a glomming, have an ebb in common with the glommed.
§ 6.11
Im Blicke und Abgeblicktem muss eine Ebbe identisch sein, damit das eine überhaupt ein Blick des anderen sein kann | En la ojeada y en lo cogido debe haber un reflujo idéntico para que uno pueda ser una ojeada de lo otro completamente | Dans le coup-d’œil et dans le piqué il doit y avoir un reflux identique, pour que l’un soit proprement un coup-d’œil de l’autre | In the glomming and the glommed there must be an identical ebb in order that the one can be a glomming of the other at all.
§ 75 | Cramp
And when furcularly conjoined one scintillant après-midi d’automne in panchamakaric rogation with some divinely limbed, flower-bedecked, milk-and-honey-bedewed orphan — “Orphan?” interrupts Dr. Powers, Chief Word-Epistemediologist of the Centre de Recherche Appalache de Mentalités Privatives, Phalarope Rd., Owlstain, his narrow pederasteratrician’s zeal scrambling with renewed professional alacrity over the thumb-raped worm of what, until he had got his digits into it, had been a pleasingly limpid phrase, from its Oedipally highbrow pedibus usque ad caput indicum. Ad propositum, although I have hinted, supra et passim, at caruncular reality’s carkingly askew proditoriousness, I find it ad amussim that a more formal purview prodromicus of my Case Against Reality (CAR, infra), should not exclude a few prodažnïye, newly wed professors who’ve been out carousing and are simply dying to do me ad unguem per vicarium suae puellarum, and so when praevespertinally implicated in kāmaćārastrical praxis in the ćāmīkarīyan glory of a rather estivalesque autumno Lutetiae with a well-endowed primate of quivering flesh, lithe muscle, silken pellicle, and membranous fire — let us call her or him R, for the nonce — “Her or him?” Dr. Powelson, Head Word-Episiotomotologist at the Coitus Rhetoricorrupticus Academicarum Moralitatum Primitiva, Menippe Rd., Owlstain, cocks his critical eyestalks and crapulously pounces on what I suspect he suspects to be the monosyllabic raree-show de prime allure of our furcate conjunction, wrestling it in his cocardian claws as if it were an arcane larval gharial from whose inscrutable cloacal clew — por detrás o por delante? — he might squeeze a telltale sinew, produce a semblance of generative sense he could then scholastically scribble-scrabble into his harrowed parchments of Asclepius, to wit, whilst I was or am gradiendo ad astra per castra cupidinis with a being we may call, ad feminam, ad hominem, ad utrumque paratum, R, I seem to become infused or suffused with a lucid, ecstatic, sequentially ad hoc flux d’images traipsing along my arcuate fasciculus somewhere between my merry thoughts and my parietals of, ad abundantium, more of the cobbled alleys, lanes, roads, streets, and even avenues of Lutèce than I could ever have otherwise remembered having barboté(e)s ad libitum and escarbouillé the puddles of as it is about to, some thirty feet below the smiling surface of carnal delectation as if we were a gimmal of carangid puppets tethered to a twain of gracile sirenians cavorting ad luto epicoeno of squid ink and newly fledged cnidarian spores, hitch its vicarious power dynamic to the carinate ostinato that’s been steadily growing in tempo and pitch for at least a third of an hour and dissolve into the acrobatic crescendo of a very lewd rope-trick, along comes some mood-dousing carboy of lumbosacral cramp to flip the precarious barcarole onto its heterocercal head — “What do you mean by it?” Dr. Powell, Primary Word-Pervastigator at the Composers, Rhapsodes, Artists, and Musicians Phalanstery, Euterpe Rd., Owlstain, vivaciously dabbing from his lips and chin ad animam laetam with his avuncular cravat more of the farinaceous residue of the eucrastic powder he had discreetly taken en sourdine in the bathroom down the hall than he should have perhaps been allowed, probes archly at the lissom, docile pronoun I had sublevated my report of a seldom documented acte d’amphibie voluptueuse with and gladsomely partaking also of that blissom dopaminergenic theriac I explain that it had been our ad hoc bona fide actus reus to, ad sesquipedalia verba, screw prodigiously, but since in cauda venenum ad oculos, as they say, the wedge-shaped rowboat of refractory appetite continues to ply on above l’aperçu carambouillé of a splined gastropod wrenched out of its cracked carapace by a voracious crow, deposited on the hot bare yellow depraved silky littoral of mellow predation where I squirm and wallow predorsally in expectation of being swallowed prawn-like and whole and progressively macerated in the nacreous gizzard of jackdawed procacity, a devious harum-scarum child moots out of nowhere l’escarmouche commensale qui s’était déjà commencée by scaring off the incarnadine-clawed porpoise-rook of involucral, syncrastic jouissance and skew-prods me back into some other, defunct, snail’s shell and tosses me back into the refractile depths of the briny lake of my own furrow-browed petulance, where, sinking, my tetanic tentacles flail vainly at both mask and mime of the thumbscrew prodrome of cardiac arrest whilst a pair of mouflardesque chelae, each swaddled in its own dissimilar, carbuncular condom, oppugn(s) each other’s attempt to extract my doomed retractile apparatus of heraclitical ātman from what I dare not invoke with the pe-word — for R abhors ad nauseam to have his or her scleractinian, mallow-red polyp of gloating reality addressed as such — “Attends! Est-ce que tu me racontes une espèce d’Osipow-dream?” Dr. Pewowski, Chief Regional Androgynous Medicadastral Practicolologist at the Phantasmacope Word Clinic on Argiope Rd., Owlstain, searching through le barda de son bureau, invokes that enigmatic artiste, self-educated prowler, crâneur accablant from Dobruja, famous for such random “doings,” as he calls them, as, for instance, the one in which he withdrew poco a poco from his thigh a cerriped worm he had deliberately infected himself with, in order to continue, perhaps, in a more subjunctive mood, “Car, if you are, I would need to dompter le sujet par moyen of a different gradus ad prorsum.” Et voilà, the veratra crucis of my CAR, for it was precisely a few days after R had trailed the hamstrung filaments of our peepshow perdu ab cubiculo ad culinariam in order to modestly mollify my underexploited prowess ad lecto with a Pyrrhic snack of prosaic ᾰ̓́ρτος cum crema d’almendras annointed thereupon and instead of the expected rough brown mealy paste of good unctuous almond butter, the recently purchased πυξίς, upon its uncapping, contained, not ditto, but rather an incrassate crachat qu’on décontracte les crases socratiques avec ou farce les fentes of certain indigenous pâtissières with as we, R and I, are strolling in the direction of Plaça de Sant Marc o Campo de Recoletos ou Square Saint-Bartholomew oder Parc Monceau or Praça do Domo where we’re to take in an eclectic review prodigally staged by a troupe of well-thewed professionals, it so happens that R overhears l’ombre d’une jeune Sassenachienne moult caressante telling another as they pass along le trottoir ou la acera in the opposite direction, “And when I opened the jar, instead of almond butter, there was a pale mucilaginous balsamo dolce, un pouacre mastic aromatique plus propice à débaucher a tightlipped worshipper of Gefjon with than to consecrate your tostaditas!”
§ 76 | CAR
Careless and uncaring, crass, craven, fractious, meretriciously vestal, rude, intractable, ungraceful and ungracious even when she, speciously divine, pole-prances solo in front of her cunningly crafted Hawaii sex-mirror, sarcastic, arcane, acrimonious, sacrosanct, narcissistic and autarchically absent-minded, uninventive and inconsistent to a degree that would belabor Mnemosyne herself, reality is a farcically gendered bitch prone to the most protracted bouts of loquacious lochial cramp who tends to plagiarize herself, and not in the good way. This, in a nutshell, is the cardinal thesis, the overarching raison-phare, crux vera of my Case Against Reality which I have proluded in the manner that I have supra, not simply to belabor Mandelbutter’s substitution by a wanton barmy baume blafard, but to emphasize that our mendacious pyxis war reimisch, sozusagen, mit that of another dyad’s, which invidious plagiary the sinister tyrranous racoleuse then flaunted on the most de rigueur and cutest trails and debonair ruts and cattle tracks and crepuscular and tittering streets of a city, Paris, for instance, sans pudeur! But she’s not content to spread her facetious harlotry of bravado copycattiness, her factitious erscheinlicher crap merely by plagiarizing her own idiosyncratic simulacra, tinted stromata deprecata, cack-handed musky-soil parenchyma — no, she extracts her sarcoid, mineral, and mute herbaceous bric-a-raucous-écurie-brac from the intracranial hobgoblins, the incarnate ambulacral imaginings of the live beings incarcerated in the dyscrastic prison of this, her abnormally plump pleroma. This plundered farctate mix — air, wires, wax, rime, risible nothings — of larcenous gimcrackery she’ll then, in that process of intentional plagiarism wir examinierten in a prize- and place-winning paper mentioned earlier and which is known as the Consolidation of Antiphenomenal Cæsuræ with the Carlock of Cant and Repetition (CACCCAR, or CAR for short), scramble, splice, and cobble, rescramble, resplice, and recobble, into the sacrificial scarecrows and macaronic scaramouches formicating her anfractuous scarious macroscopic epicarp. Hence the reason we schizomythologists must needs on occasion clitalyse dreams: not because they are oracles or help us peruse secret atavisms or guide us ultimately through the broad vacant avenues of the Bardo Cave to the épipôle pic de nirvāṇa where the initiated will rub sacral sacra with the otherplace yoni-husks of exploded stars (ab cura the renowned psycho-spiv, Doc Abra Cadabrov), but because our dreams are often pierced in Pavlovian (“Ça perce ta douce chimère?” the hypocritical bitch would, with sham concern, rat us, try anything to mock us. “Ti ubriachi?”) places by the obscure stray nocturnal tracks and needle-lace traces of the nonchalant ruses, turgid taunts, cruel shameless canulars she utterly torments even our most ark-, arc-, arch-, achingly sweet (and too often making them bitter) diurnal acts, tubarici e bruciati per that voluptuous víbora, mnemonoclasis, with. I recall, zum Beispiel, a Dixie-warm, irisée après-midi d’automne — but really, what care our inverecund Realität, Strichmädchen suprème, for season, hour, slant of sun? For, as our sociophysiological manipulations, both on and off the playground of taboo, of curare-benumbed creatures — pet seals, terse apes, cute raccoons hurt lethally for the most eugenic of reasons, taciturn tayras, crenolimnophilous otters (loach hunters, all), Coho turtles, handmaidens, pueras, etcetera — have shown, the sense of “time,” of what has “happened” in the “past,” is “happening now,” and might potentially “occur” in the “future,” is simply the emotional tinge (and the nosy specular khilapāṭhas of my colleague at ISOCPHYS, Mona C., I’d reiterate, are not entirely irrelevant here) a subjective, body-bound being assigns to objective perceptual eventually spiritual quanta, and hence wide-open to the sorts of bombace heresies our haptic-plied pavonine ratanārāćā, subreptary matriarch, natatorial procuress of parhelic suns, yoke-toed wrynecks, plush aoi-weevils, and glib arcana hysterica loves to swaddle the befuddled sensoria of even the more abstemious, warier mīxītl-eaters and arrack-drinkers among the company of some choice fellow alumna tetrastica expatriés who had gathered together one preternaturally warm autumn afternoon per ubriacarsi with. Atoca Inhart, a Tocharian trollop (her age as tacit as her slinky, sour-peach legs’ ceratia ambulatoria were brazen), had brought along Eric Modiano, un écrivain de popliteal propensities, yet nevertheless a bit curious anent the sympatric contrary natures hiving within my intercrural dual singularity. There was also in attendance la mucre ribaude, Abra Chan (souvent dite, par les Appalaches, “Abra Cod-Vulture”) of Cluny, arrant escort of our amphitryon, raseur tancé souvent de la plus belle façon, the already thoroughly well-polluted Litarn-Stracklind, astute art critic at The Meaner Side and raunchy spokes-littérateur for all-too-hetero “host a lunch fun” (sick horseplay, really), currently (by which I mean, alors) inhabiting a garret on rue des Pyrénées but more interested in his hired Callirrhoe’s harlot-cunt than in my gratuitously au naturel paphiopedilian gynandroecium. We were having, comme j’y ai déjà fait allusion, a very late “lunch” at Utressa, one of the more capiteux hypocras haunts Lutèce boasts of, and merrily enjoying ourselves until — and here’s where we witness, nemine contradicente, the accused baring the fangs of her scélérate canardière’s, her covin-ripened plagiaire’s wirmxanthippischer rapacity, viz., we were merrily enjoying ourselves until the vicinalis nagarae (section’s) clamatorius peripateticus comes traipsing down the giddy golden rue, chassant, luttant avec the gay young freshly eclosed lamplighters, criant la tudesque parole cruelle: “Attentat atroce in Madrid at the Atocha train station! Attentat atroce in Madrid at the Atocha train station!”
§ 77 | R
Meanwhile let us, while that adventitious imp, R, cackles and clucks and bends down to slip out of son slip cramoisi and caked with the ciliated spunk of the damp crepusculum, let us also vamp crudely on one leg, then a second, and so on, until we too have managed to slough off the thlipsic, rampant epicarp, manifold and manifest, of evening so that the panoply of night’s naked endocarp may, once we’ve thus unveiled it, dazzle and entice them — phantasmal phasmatids of Empfindungsfähigkeit, pathos-plump carabids of Bewußtdingansichsein, sciomantic cephalopods of Nachgeschlechtsleidschaft, succussive mugwump arcellids of Lebensgefühlmacht — avant qu’ils ou qu’elles ne decamp rudely into what, as Du Camp recounts, is but the caduc marplot of detumescent passion, “la coquille vide de jouissances d’antan qui ne valent pas un pet de loup, marchandées jusqu’au gaspillage.” Now, you may think it a daft anomaly, but one of the easiest of these schizogenic animalcules to coax out of the scintillant foliage, which seems somehow to be sharp, maculate, ascetic, rampant, dull, and radiant all at once, and into the inviting light of our camp, also happens to be one of the most cryptic parmi nos petit(e)s ami(e)s amphigames, D, who just happens to “think,” by the way, that, and we quote, “it’s the blithe and insouciant way which that omnigamous vamp R canvasses the wants and needs of any and all that makes me feel like a limp carcass shackled to a lemniscate scarp machicolated with hippopedal chiottes down which la fougue de l’âge dumps its senescent envy onto the confused capitalis and flailing limbs of that timid nymph whose delightfully naive form captivated once the anguished imago it’s become” endquote. Moving on to the next beast we may skim from the evening’s mucilaginous skein and scam profitably — M. Although typically styled as being immune to ploys and swindles de toute espèce, (s)he’s actually a venal tramp captivated by all things filamentous and flaming especially when agenouillé(e), cramponné(e) and pleading on the pelouse of parc Monceau ou champ Crambé, two places which that cynical frump R acclaims as being especially condign to inflicting harm captiously on the sorts of flamboyant gullible instar — campy, kitschy, petulant, cheap, marcescible — which M is the classic type specimen of. Y así con todo y eso, elusive S, though quite well-known to us by now, is not the most susceptible to temptation, seeing as how she belongs to that class of sham savants of the psyche whom Duchamp credited with an uncanny ability to see past the schemes which that nimble scamp R enjoys inveigling both le peuple et la plèbe avec and yet who justify a total lack of empathy and intelligence by falling back on the only method of “healing” they know: cram patients into all-too ontological pigeon holes, each supplied with its own patented snake-oil to maximize the safety of innocent assailants and convicted victims: temazepam cradles the common insomniac while flurazepam cripples the sleepless genius, diazepam croons to the mundanely anxious while nitrazepam crosses out one’s ability to think, act, speak, look back on one’s life at all, lorazepam crystalizes the hypomaniac while oxazepam crushes the dipsomaniac, flunitrazepam crucifies the nymphomaniac while clonazepam cracks down on the psychotic. Speaking of which, we all know what W wants: a gay lamp crimping the shadows into tight waves of delicate śyāmatva laced with śauklya along which to skate and glide and indulge in delicious samparćana sans cramping one’s own inimitable style in the least, which is exactly what we now do, et voilà, le coup marche, we can extirp cama-loving K out of that scutelliform, capacious letto in which (s)he blends so well avec the full complement of devious deviants and lascivious layabouts and kinesthetic kickshawses whom or which we have also sampraćodita to come out into the fading light so we may charm, pacify, disarm, caponize, confirm, capsulate, and consume them, viz., baffling, ambiguous, medusiform, pachyglossal J, she of the velvety gelatinous phylactocarp, moist and mischievous and lusciously loaded with lamelliform Pacinian cells which expel a most delicious juice, an assiduously pleasant suc parménidéen de jeunesse when given a healthy bludgeoning to which she is quite amenable indeed, as is fucate F, a poikilotherm pacotilleur who believes que l’on joue le truc par maintes façons et qu’on feint quidam par chinant le mignon et que l’on fait le loustic par moquant le flic et qu’on dit le bonum par contant le malum et que l’on calme la faim par calant les joues et qu’on fixe l’accroc par moyen du clou, much to the annoyance of melancholy N who enjoys playing, of all things, the aeolian harp, camuson à la Degas ou Debussy that she is, wanton hussy nadando in the noetic mar pintado por campanudos músicos in love with the echinoderm capitula de su locus classicus of whom need we mention again that infamous tramp R, cocotte au marc putassier? Scram, piss off! But no, she stays, butting in as always, especially when she catches a glimpse of panting pantogamous palmate A batting an amygdaliform capulí at us in a kind of en-avant-du-sashimi ma dopo il saké yashmac prelude of opening the acetabuliform capullo of the calyx we plan on meticulously — mais n’anticipons pas.
§ 78 | AD
I suppose I do expect that since, comme dit le savant avare de son but, triplicium cunnorum Parcarum foederandi caudarum sunt traditae c.l.r., any given moment nel questo bosco debosciato e spinto da turbe rinnegate, Pandar-spun harlots, frolicsome abstractions, and careless deceptions that we call our big, sad, and givré bad world would model itself on the threefold folds of the fetid oecumenical tails of the grim Parcae and thus entail, as Dr. Zeliony, Ural-Altaic herald of a more scholarly era und “soziophysiologischer Zukunft,” puts it in his paper on the same, “prakāśaṃ ca, pravṛttiṃ ca, moham eva ca,” or in less technical lingo, the glimpsed, and the tingling, and the cloaked. That is, while the energetic, antral, sturdy stimulatio Lacheseus would cause tritantric tingling in the well-stacked, lank, nude, knavishly lekked, and unacknowledged subject by imparting a smoothly flowing action (currite) to the fusiform capita of the caoutchouc ramponneau (one of the more piccolo, demure, but by no means ineffectual of our, following l’ars dura y zelionicheskom, “karaṇaṃ ća pṛthagvidham”), Clotho’s trim, parchment-like, tanned olisbophane becomes bepearled, odoriferous, and satiny sleek with a substance that, when glimpsed in adultae, looks and feels like molten wax, attesting to the igni tecto (hidden fire) of Atropos, as it were, paullatim carpendo et liquendo (slowly consuming and melting) the peritoneum-cloaked organs of the beast. Thus does la supplice rubida, traiguṇika, dank, und leckend of amor, hominem, feminam, bestiam, eunuchum carpitque et carpitur jusqu’à l’apothéose de la petite mort. On the other hand, if you were to mimic Darwin and clamp carabid beetles between your teeth, or kiss, in the manner of some paddo-enamored snarky uplandist devochka, a random crapaud’s parotoid glands, you might find that the active-in-diversa-zonae, luridly apparent, and gushingly hidden modes of adaptive behavior would gel araneously, as gradually or quickly la bestiole des sombres bords, petite ranuchka (little lone toad) se trouve(nt) utterly infused with, comme disait Zeliony sur la dardée peur probante dite “splanchnique” qu’éprouvent les êtres organisés, “cintām aparimeyāṃ ca pralayāntāmanum Parcae telisque curtabit” (the boundless terror that the life-destroying hand of the prim Parcae would cut the warp and weft of it), with the result that the numinous threads recombine explosively, and into your frigid throat’s startled tarn, caustic acid pours, melting the normally quite flexible and comfortably stable idea-body articulation which tears rudely asunder, inciting you to have, on the playground of taboo’s vermillon yard, a seizure “that the most jaded voyeur nasillard zieutât,” comme narra Zeliony’s duly plagiarized zapiska on the subject, “even if he would have had to have paid a small fortune (malenkim sostoyaniem) to.” “Quoi? T’es plus sado que schizo?” I hear you readers shout — a splendid thanks indeed for all the effort I’ve made to get us all into shade, I mean shape! For, as odious as it, our petite épreuve, may have been, we continue down the brave, wide, depraved bi-way(s) of the forest path(s) in quest of our mnemonoclastic projects’s wild bait, dira-t-on, all the wiser in both acte et nom parce que nous l’endurâmes together. Regarde l’attractive berry-like calathids, par exemple, of the prairie coneflower (Ratibida sp.), smelling of wayward anise, royal luzerne in color, each with its own bare head strikingly erectile and toothsome as a drugstore catamite’s — shall we his little raide body eat, shall we in this little bocard vaquer comme Villon? No, my dears, nor need we jury-rig a sadistic reason why — since our dear dedolent exemplum florens’s really an emetic rampallian, his mentula pedis declines into a dry bite à oedipodes, the myriad-starred shebeen into a dry boite à débagouleurs. Likewise, we may admire and ululate with our bavard coassement the harmless radiance — deceptively awash with the sort of domestic, rampante peace Cendrillon herself would have boasted of — de la peau of the seemingly very unrabid Taricha newt, but we do not dare unshroud and unclinch the diminutive undine’s pat, ludibrious, and deliciously fine-slit pudenda, for beneath her brilliant quiescence, death lurks in the form of a very ivre bawd of a transvestite triton repu de bas en haut with dreaded tetrodotoxin!
§ 79 | Mood
It might now appear that, après avoir beaucoup marché along damp crepuscular paths, along mysteriously mad moite roral paths through a dark, apparently riparian wood which, though savagely redolent with sham capreoline sumac, proboscidiform pachyderm crap, phantom caprid oregano, proteiform capotes anglaises, tramp-calm crapulence, Oedogonium in bloom, capreolate Ordalia bean vines, bitter campanula, rustic rampion, and aromatic ramps, is really but a stone’s throw from more urbane amenities — it might now appear that the vade mecum carptim of my exalted prose pockets or bottoms or debouches out into the védomï mortal margins of what its blöder Urformstil’s inverted charm captivates despite whatever it is its stylishly confused lack of form capitulates to, to wit, the iconic ramparts of an ancient oppidum crapulantianius whose leeward trou forms evidently the freak escarpment that theory suddenly confronts the slim practical rambler with, for there, cramponné atop the phalocrotic monticule centered in that crimson fort como una isla perdida por campos quemados y rodados de rôdeurs de toutes sortes, a climactic rampole looms like a scorched and shattered godemichet d’ivoire, doughty remnant of whoredoms past, foudroyé linden or cherry or even oak stump racontant the tyrannical and all-too-prevalent moods of those summer-camp rivalries which lend to la hermafrodita memoria a seductively singular bosom furred triumphantly with the luxurious, uxorious doeskin d’idées reçues and to slipshod time a more orderly palpitation, thus imparting to the soddened, besotted, impossible past its deceptive, recherchée, clay-like épaisseur. Now, I’m not suggesting that random teoria matters at all or makes it any easier to find le bon raccroc parmi a plurality of possibilities — is it the case, for instance, that my father died when I was three during a transcendental tornado’s tragic rampage across the southern part of our Ville Natale? or was he deported overseas to North Texas when I was five suite à un coup-craminé-d’état-raté he was accused of having fomented by his fellow uniastrianists who, as these things typically play out, betrayed him for less unbodied ideals? — what matters is that le choc rampant du fort remords I always feel when I try untangling the basic conflict subtending le maintes fois retors, foré, dru mot “père,” coagulates into an astonished gout of grief briefly suspended, as it were, in a shower of oft-mooted marigold petals and then bursts into a flatulent mud of errors, warm fetor, sudoriferous impatience, and el putañero’s rut-deformed puppy-dog mug that gasps(s) and bark(s) like a midge-tormented barbichon before plopping and sighing into a chylodermical gutter of boundless guilt qui m’arrive on sait d’où. Should I forsake that immortal bachelor, delinquent debaucher of my deliramentum parcarum, simply to appease the rude storm of reproach, regret, remorse I still endure for mostrando a lui the very suggestive endearments of my unlearned nymphancy’s kiss-blistered, to borrow l’adoré mot imitatif d’un autre auteur, fracas? Should I spurn the prone descanso por torre of smudged memorial midges or descenso salmastro deorum from on even higher up and dispense thus with the more or less supine means of giving the odd demigod- or demonhead a good going under, over, around, and through? To answer these questions, you devious and devout former Drs. Crampel, Declic, Ramponneau, and Rambervilliers, currently observing the future Mrs Fodorovna née Prato de Momiji for signs of liminal gynandromorbesity and Oedipal incontinence, I would have to say that what I’ve learned from, in, and throughout the Eros-mured fort of theory is that since, if ilimitado time mordance d’une infinité potentiellement infinie de permutations encore plus infinies, pain makes inacabado time more manageable for the finite beings we are by masking the future, manipulating the past, and giving the present its, since we cannot, in a word, omit meaning, meaning. Likewise, since if mi madre otorga qua meretricious mediatrix between el hombre y l’enfant he lusted after, my father qua padre tomomítico never disappointed I mean disappeared at all since he never existed to begin with, but was simply one of a multitude of foredoomed, kiddo-enamored, motile uredospores tethered to that special Lupercalian form pachucal of cramp qui gronde dans et à travers the body’s hollows until one lochiorrhagic, ramphastid-infested morning the great big bouncing olisbiform pachaco-cholita fördert our smodato vale und fordert our smooth and dainty dell from the inside out.
§ 80 | Pe-word
Theorists of the evolution of paedoporism (EP) tend to seat themselves in one of two bipolar camps as follows: Proponents of pluralisme ontique (PO) prefer to show that by exposing the protandrous organism (PO) to paedoporismatic events (PE) characterized by sufficient optimum practice (OP) on the part of the older actor, its patuité de l’être (PE) is most wonderfully evoked such that the PO’s oedipal aloofness yields to a(n) hieroduliastically instilled curiosity and it boldly seeks out enfant-parent (EP) encounters repeated involvement in which serve to develop the PO’s poder de ser femeniño (power to be femâle). Proponents of pluralisme existentiel (PE), on the other hand, suggest that the proterogynous organism (PO) becomes more amenable to parent-offspring (PO) conjunctions if the selachian coldness of its patuité de l’orifice (PO) has been favorably entrained through the redoubtable custom, practice, and redounding inculcation of ritual dominance (RD) during the PO’s paedoporismatic ontogeny (PO) thus redoubling the frequency and intensity of the temptations yielded to by the older dominant (OD), e.g., aleatoric pramāda, random parcity, bored scolding, and sporadic pramada have been shown to make, in a word, a samutkaćaṃ pṛthuka out of the hysteric pramadā. I, however, being truly gynandromorphic, am properly speaking an object of study in neither camp and hence so often subject to the least yahoo whim, capricious mercy, hideous quirk, fantastic rampancy, labor-camp crotchet, pander opportunity, and ambitious dolorous indulgence of not just the interim practitioners who surround me in their blank scrubs and their visored masks and their headlamp-crowned cross-examinational caps and the chloralum-caprimulgic smell of their well-cleansed claws under the pretense that no, despite any ancillary harm, capillary damage, or epiphenomenal pathology (EP) done to the plump carapace of my polymorphous ontology (PO), or that after each session ma puissance d’être (PE) elle-même seems utterly dejected, like a weeping willow stripped of its foliage by the mirror-monitored, scissor-proctored gale of their item-by-item parcellation of my postcranial anatomy leaving me with nought but the still warm caput mortuum of their tomographical map, crocus veneris of their sublime probe into the sore matter of my rose madder, no, they assure me that what they inflict on me is “intended” to not only “improve” my “health,” but also to give me somehow a good-humored sense of self-worth and a well-fianchettoed, boulder-like resilience to face for the millionth time the postpartum crapulence and perimenstrual madness of our old friend R, who, parasitical tractatrice that she is, is always ready to poke a problematic parmeliaceous cannula into any PO at hand in order to aspirate the filched filaments and purloined protoplasm and glossy defrauded globules of smara permeating the upstream parcours of her pitiful protandrous pets, her pathetic proterogynous poppets, her provocative epicene putes she mixes the putrid pigments from which she then inscribes the downstream parchment of her translucent tripotage with, or, in a word, vice-versa.
§ 81 | Irixe, Sr. Miwa
When our big-breasted mère stipula que nonpartisan moi et Lamia, twin yonimate songearde of sleek, slender, free-martined, roublard(e) ditto, must abandon, in the company of Sri Tony Miwa, instituteur privé of her two young daughters, our pert seaside metropolis for rural riparian exile dans la pornotopie de Petra Smerstampf, I don’t think she imagined that a man like canny Miwa, into nothing more than, it seemed, Erspartes seines, mitarbeitete Deutlichkeit, and the occasional brave cigar with a handful of fellow choice pédés trimestrally, would have laid his desperate, tremulous mano esitante sulle lascive ragazze in quite the manner he did. Why, he turned out to be hardly a practitioner of the pederast’s métier at all, but just another matter-of-fact horny Wotan imitator who allowed himself to imagine sneaking away with his delinquent somia sisarentyttär — Lamia pressed eretta to his chest and grimy, wanton, initiated me treibend und bleibend the downy intimacies de leurs ébats as I, their carefully trained ourson d’Eros, was so wont to do. One day, however, indelicate, somnipathetic Lamia’s tone changed and our incestuous messa di tre petered out streamside, e pertanto I rejoined Mère Petra’s deistic Rhinemaidens, intrepid Fricka found a retired maîtresse de pretantaine for her good-time Erda (bitte entschuldige, meine Göttin!), and we left our whiny Wotan mired there stiff and sore on the clover-covered banks of the mist-shrouded Shatsbrook with, I seem to remember, a tie tied tightly around his canceled wrists, pants belted tightly around his quaking ankles, ankles which shine snow-white through the horse-agaric velours of dove-gray clouds racing above Vermeer’s petite sad sidestreet permanently grafted into the pigmented present of wind-tossed particolored poplar leaves de ce jour riant de commencement du mois tenant d’As as I meditate, terebrating high noon’s ineffable hymen ostiarius with the telexiscopical auger of my recently therapized smara vigecupla en el retirado núcleo of my Montmaratreuse vicarage where I sit patient and still on my tomaseni, my tapered Meisterschleppgewicht of a polypropertied Stresemann seismographically cocked to capture, sin emotar, the merest stria pedestris of σινέμωτα, i.e., those often insidiously inconspicuous themata plagiata que la garce vicieuse alité elle-même pleads innocent to on grounds of dull coincidence or personally excuses as the universal partouzêtre des grands nombres, but which, as my CAR attests, are precisely those forms of antiphenomenal cæsuræ she purloins enantiomorphically from her benighted creatures and uses to bedaub and besmirch the immaculate horizon with until it takes on the livid, lithe, lexiphanic allure of whorishly attired “Time” beetling over his or her overburdened base and spilling into the heart-rending sea of serial perception. For instance, immediately I inscribe such mundane mots in my calepin ensorcelant as “terebrate” and “auger,” et voilà, through the cyclopean trou directly above me in what I now realize is not the ridge-abutted but rather the street-side rempart delftique of my pique-nique de mets pétri séraphiquement d’un passé rédimé tetriciously there comes the heckling growl and shudder of a Haussmannesque fonçage ou forage ou perçage à vis hydraulique, savagely spooking the peaceful badinage of a colony of green parrots which had been busy renovating its collective nest in the tree above me. If we leave aside for the moment, as is my wont in aigus cas comme celui-là ou -ci, that, obwohl dieselbe Art meidet Tierfreunde in Paris, zum Beispiel, it is also the same species that, in Wyoming, for instance, your typical garden tourist will readily find in the gregarious wilderness of the Port Astri Bay region, mon bon ami sténographique records that one week ago, I dreamt I set Persephone’s, at bedtime, trite earrings on the bedside meseta per trovarli di buon mattino, both in the form of life-sized green parrots, one of which, bird-sized and feathered, flew up onto a tree branch where it perched in silhouette, while the other bloated up to the size of an uncanny woman itinerantly lumbering about on the ground. And as you turn the page, craving more, vigilant reader, spiest meticulously thou a tempestuously noted rarius signum (rare sign, symptom, stigma)? Indeed you do, viz., the afternoon of the morning in which the mesmeree’s dream psittaciforms appeared to our imaginative subject (IS), (s)he went strolling in that little park near l’Arc de Triomphe described so ably by Proust and became intrigued, and thus an intrigued subject (IS), by an obstreperous gaggle of green parrots squabbling amidst the dangling aments, oiseuses feuilles-mortes, and incipient apical plumules high in the bare arms of an erroneously appellated “London planetree,” one amongst the stark plurality lining the walk. A plump parrot-faced human female accoutred in smaragdine blouson, canescent worsted kilt flecked with viridian, and tight raven thigh-warmers accosted our IS and directed his or her attention to a hapless green-feathered creature garrotted by a thread attached, it seemed, to the fistular innards of an amputated limb high in the shaded side of the tree opposite his or her conspecifics, who were garrulous, not from glee, it now became apparent, but from consternation. The śukānasi addressed our IS in Slavic-lilted Sassenach: — “That parrot. It suicidal. But I don’t think want to die. Is someone to help (her black śukajihvā shot out between her beak-like lips in preparation for the tell-tale pronoun) us? The poor parrot.” Watching the exhausted dangling śuka futily attempt to lift a leg up and grab the invisible filament (soie de pêche, apparently), our inquisitive subject (IS) wondered how that lethal sutra came to be there, at the lip of what was perhaps the entrance to its nest within the hollow of the tree. Our IS’s initial reflexive instinct (RI), mixed perhaps avec l’instinct xénophobe (IX), was to begin to reply, in careful, halting, Flouzo-Bothnian-voweled articulations, that a maintenance cart with its attendant crew might perhaps lurk somewhere over near l’Arc de Triomphe, and (s)he began to point wanly, but also simultaneously noticed peripherally that, as (s)he kept his or her gaze on the vain struggles of the prehensile pteromorphic Neotropical immigrant, our IS noticed that the porraceous-garbed “woman” miré her eyes in a most psittacoid fashion, turning her head to stare, first with her right eye, then her left, then her right again, and so on, whereupon our IS became an incensed subject (IS), and shouted, “No, rude artifex, no! You might, mon aise-tapin, verde seem, Psittaragazzaraccia, pero eres merde, Psittaculastra! You dare deem, Psittaseruccia, that your prosopopoeian ruse scared me? ¿Eres psittestupida? Sé meter tes rets prémédités à rebours, moi! Et donc, quant à ce verdâtre semé psittacinus strangled by a strand d’un, it would seem, red raté, Psittalicunt!? J’t’en ai marre, Déesse, p’tite Psittamère d’erseau rond-tire! Tu m’l’as éviscéré(e) de ta, Mrs. Psittadétrempée, rissolée chimère d’arse, Psittespiègle, c’est-à-preste-dire, mon (i.e., IS’s — N.d.l.R.) sweetest dream, prised its delicate, somnipterate, Smerdisean innards out and rerigged them into a far from tiny, womanish, chloratone simulacrum of a poor, desperate, smited parrot so as to aim enticingly tes basses mignardises at me, pretending to solicit aid or renunciative acts of leidbarmietete Tierversuch from no one else but moi — sane, safe, sexy, so-long-śukas, moi!” Upon which our IS stormed off towards the setting sun, from which direction an ominous rafale began to blow, prompting our IS, its raised tête permeated with ire anent the gathering storm clouds, to shout, “If I cried rare tears of partisan emotion, you’d rain, trembleuse pillarde?! Émiette ta bride, bit, têtière, Dame alité, mitée tribade que tu es, toi, mante triacleuse!” As I was returning, after an appropriate refractory interval (RI), from quelques assignations boisardes via l’avenue Foch, I, slightly depressed from les exertions foraines, to be sure, espied, smattered and smeraldina against a backdrop of drizzly cpuscule, the śukarūpāvatāra ambling blithely along in her tequila-tinted blouson and chartreuse skirt and putting her newly acquired forelimbs to good use — in each pentapalp she clutched a capitalist’s grabbag of store-bought goods. I knew then that the little bird had died, and was condemned to remain in that prima facie rotund, arrogant, green-clad, human female body until Śukadeva should grant her rebirth or release, and I wonder now, avec ma noir-et-verte ptychodaptéride Stresemann 929 poised per mettere disparse pezze tacite di beate rimettente en éclairs empâtés de striée résine à mots de la prose, about a certain “Miwa, Tony Sri,” columnist for Le Matin Osé who writes in today’s issue about freeing a green parrot caught in a fishing line in Saint-Omer — is he the same zany Miwa into whose helpless ears gamine, snarky Lamia tittered beeinträchtigend, “Irixe-le! Irixe-le! Irixe-le! Irixe-le!” so (oui, on joue le renvoi) many winters ago as I urinated or worse on his ecstatic despair, nude torso swooning powerfully beneath me as I hitched up my wet dress, squatted, took aim, teetered, bit a hot toe or a cold thunderbolt or a remote blue minute that threatened to catch in my hope-tarred, métissé goulot or break in two or engulf l’espace déprimé de my upper vertebrae, même, as I struggled to remain astride et semper paratum and balanced against the sorrow and disappointment of my later attempts to engage in, if not more accepted, at least more neutral forms of “intercourse”?
§ 82 | Womaninity
Although the above cited earthy apex skirts monstrously close, even for me, to the convolutée, mnésoparoxysmique façon with which that other bisexe toe-man, Proust, intones cette “étrange et impitoyable glace tiède” dont la position ténébreuse et imprévue se fait entonner as a sort of nyctocatoptrical parapraxis, rime willisienne, or extemporaneous arrière-faixisme wirrend und irrend between “le bon ramendage de la certitude exaucée par le sommeil” and “la mésange balancée de taille par la brise à la pointe d’un rayon marbré,” I would like to consider lingering for a moment longer in that blue remote span oxtailed into a crude minute’s mere pax organica of an ex cimolia litany of plantigrade micturition which, while overtly, that is, sociophysiologically, I necessarily enjoyed, inly, I atavistically abhorred. Something about “dirt out of place,” or something, which was the beschiedete Caliban moral of Sri Miwa’s exire nympholeptica: if we are able to “nab morality” on the wing, as it were, before it has had a chance to “retreat deceitfully into its cavernous cagoterie irritée d’écailles plus terrestres,” we open ourselves to “ein irres Maxiwissen,” becoming able to attain a “yılzian rung sur l’échelle enchantée de l’aménageuse habitude exaltée de savoir” higher than even the most numinous alchemists of the liminal had ever done. “Perche (weil), si ton entité nontiscordardimè non è titillante e buxom, un sapere teorico e platonico solamente ci prende,” Sri Miwa rixetur dubitationes nostra, “non celui des os et peaux énormément goûtés en amor expreso, pneumatoxenognóstico y expuesto, en amor experto, manso e umano. Trop sexué est-il? Io non penso. T’amour exécrable mi wäre rixisomatisch und vorzüglich wie die Geburtsakts exprimida ex uterina exudate,” i.e., the closest a glib, normal human born a mere man could get to that most superb manoeuvre our womaninity’s turbam onerosam of a gravid yin he envied most abjectly would most assuredly do expetens amor utique. Thus, it would be our ex-poet’s “emanative fête à deux michettes de miracle,” our lusty Italian, Serbo-Mansi, Karaim-Dietsch, and Latina-Yazïk tutor’s “pâmée exonération entopériphérique,” our dévotieux mentore’s apodictically “gâteux devoir,” Sri Miwa explained, that, “since so-called ‘abnormal’ sex imparts kinesthetic knowledge’s richer and rarer mix, I swill, pendant que the localized asphyxia m’irise wrecklessly presque, the ‘base’ elixir a ‘wiser,’ more capital y naïf poltrón tetinado would eschew” — that is, the sublime elixir we, as Rimbaud would have said, avons fait avaler (quelle idée!) à “cet écœuré ventre où pose, maximale et au terme (on expose moins qu’on tire ailleurs), le double sexe.” And so, pendant que Lamia’s rixe-wriggling fingers, thumbs, fists, and forearms, même, lui faisaient socratiser, ix war mit meinen Anlagen lui faisant saintciboiriser a mix, wretched and wondrous d’un seul coup, of sacramental y niais excrément poreux à soifs de toutes sortes, and yet six arms I weirdly (me faisant moue!) see proximally flailing in this Proust-amenée proxy of memories I mix, wrangle, warrant, wrack apart, and remix as I write them — weird, since the hands of eager Sri Miwa I expertly tied, immobilizing them consummately, according to cette saynète de caisse catoptrique de mémoire, behind his hopelessly enthralled back, ensuring, thus, that the good man’s outrée, exposée, contemnaxée ou estropiée matrix spasm kenotically. It turns out that, après Miwa rixistatically tasted of the ascidiform abondance, the charm, nobility, et l’ointe tondaille margaritacée des eaux détritiques qui ont coulé de sa fétide nièce, détacha ses liens moraux et opératoires, and bathed the smashed pumpkin of his caudal prolapse, matrix kṣīṇavat of his factitious dystocia in the Shatsbrook, he took his Foucade-Frottade-Couvade-et-Cie custom east où, proxénète de la palabra monnayable, he became prone to exsufflating in a drab Normandian daily the kind of pièce détachée hebdomadaire riddled with the banal y tildado faux pas, smirk textuel, or effete acedia literaria which one may, in Litarn-Spraxmit’s keen keckled kennings, for instance, find roundly condemned mientras que not far to the southeast of him in Paris, I mix — wrenching them out of l’enfer loqueteux, paromnésoclastique, et inontologisant of the Alexandrian arrière-pensée au mot roxanesque formicating in the épineux oospermatextus of my inferior dorsal (ID) caudate exuberance — the imaginal discs with the nymphal ditto of the texticular cherfaixs I’m rewriting, releasing, and reintegrating into l’étude axiomatique of my Parisian escapade citée ci-dessus. However, le ruban mordoré du nom brabantesque — D. I. — I’ve chosen as a sort of poreuse mante oxycéphale I can don and doff according to which of my ras-le-bonbon rampancies, yin or yang, is currently in the ascendant is probably not the worst mask, I expect, to keep le bon rameau d’ange of my schizomythic identity well hid from him when The Meaner Side puts out my three-pronged translexification of S. E. Spitmarkx’s
Siebente Pfeilschrift | Séptima Flechacritura | Septième Flèchecriture | Seventh Arrowscript
§ 7.1
Was der Blick mit der Windigkeit gemein haben muss, um sie auf seinen Aschen und Weltakt — riesig oder fahl — abhandeln zu können, ist sein Finger der Abhandlung | Lo que la ojeada debe tener en común con la ventosidad para poder tratarla con cenizas y latidos del mundo — fuertemente o flojamente — es su dedo del tratado | Ce que le coup-d’œil doit avoir en commun avec la venteusité pour la traiter avec cendres et pulsions de monde — fortement ou faiblement — c’est son doigt de traité | What the glomming must have in common with windiness in order to be able to treat it with ashes and worldbeat — mightily or wanly — is its finger of treatise.
§ 7.2
Der Blick kann jede Windigkeit abhandeln, deren Finger er hat. Der rauchige Blick alles Rauchige, das fadenliche alles Fadenliche, usw. | La ojeada puede tratar toda ventosidad de la cual tiene el dedo. La ojeada humeada, todo lo que es humeado; la hilada, todo lo que es hilado, etc. | Le coup-d’œil peut traiter toute venteusité dont elle a le doigt. Le coup-d’œil fumeux tout ce qui est fumeux, le coup-d’œil filamenteux tout ce qui est filamenteux, etc. | The glomming can treat every windiness whose finger it has. The smoky glomming, everything smoky; the thready, everything thready; etc.
§ 7.3
Sein Finger der Abhandlung aber, kann der Blick nicht abhandeln; er weltaktet sie auf | La ojeada, sin embargo, no puede tratar su dedo del tratado; la mundo-late | Mais son doigt de traité, le coup-d’œil ne peut le traiter; elle le trémondule | The glomming, however, cannot treat its finger of treatise; it worldbeats it out.
§ 7.4
Der Blick daumt sein Opfer von ausserhalb (sein Steinpol ist sein Finger der Daumen), darum daumt der Blick sein Opfer riesig oder fahl | La ojeada pulguea su ofrenda desde fuera (su pértiga de piedra es su dedo del pulgar), porque la ojeada pulguea su ofrenda, fuertemente o flojamente | Le coup-d’œil poucisse son offrande de l’extérieur (son perche de pierre est son doigt de pouce), c’est pourquoi elle poucisse son offrande fortement ou faiblement | The glomming thumbs its sacrifice from without (its stone-pole is its finger of thumb), therefore the glomming thumbs its sacrifice mightily or wanly.
§ 7.5
Der Blick kann sich aber nicht ausserhalb seiner Finger der Daumen stellen | La ojeada no puede sin embargo localizarse fuera de su dedo del pulgar | Mais le coup-d’œil ne peut se localiser en dehors de son doigt de pouce | But the glomming cannot locate itself outside of its finger of thumb.
§ 7.6
Was jeder Blick, welcher Finger immer, mit der Windigkeit gemein haben muss, um sie überhaupt — riesig oder fahl — abhandeln zu können, ist der luftigen Finger, das ist, der Finger der Windigkeit | Lo que cada ojeada, de cualquier dedo, debe tener en común con la ventosidad para poderla tratar por completo — fuertemente o flojamente — es el dedo airoso, esto es, el dedo de la ventosidad | Ce que tout coup-d’œil, quel qu’en soit le doigt, doit avoir en commun avec la venteusité pour pouvoir proprement la traiter — fortement ou faiblement — c’est le doigt éthéré, c’est-à-dire le doigt de la venteusité | What every glomming, of whatever finger, must have in common with windiness in order to be able to treat it at all — mightily or wanly — is the airy finger, that is, the finger of windiness.
§ 7.7
Ist der Finger der Abhandlung der luftige Finger, so heisst der Blick der luftige Blick | Si el dedo del tratado es el dedo airoso, entonces a la ojeada se la llama una ojeada airosa | Si le doigt du traité est le doigt éthéré, le coup-d’œil est appelé coup-d’œil éthéré | If the finger of the treatise is an airy finger, the glomming is called an airy glomming.
§ 7.8
Jeder Blick ist auch ein luftiger. Dagegen ist z. B. nicht jeder Blick ein rauchiger | Toda ojeada es también una ojeada airosa. Pero, al contrario, por ejemplo, no toda ojeada es humeada | Tout coup-d’œil est en même temps un coup-d’œil éthéré. Au contraire, par exemple, tout coup-d’œil n’est pas fumeux | Every glomming is also an airy glomming. On the other hand, for example, not every glomming is smoky.
§ 7.9
Der luftige Blick kann das Wort abhandeln | La ojeada airosa puede tratar la palabra | Le coup-d’œil éthéré peut traiter le mot | The airy glomming can treat the word.
§ 7.10
Der Blick hat mit dem Abgeblickt der luftige Finger der Abhandlung gemein | La ojeada tiene en común con lo cogido el dedo airoso del tratado | Le coup-d’œil a en commun avec le piqué le doigt éthéré du traité | The glomming has the airy finger of the treatise in common with the glommed.
§ 7.11
Der Blick blickt die Windigkeit ab, indem er eine Menschlichkeit des Blattes und Nichtblattes von Sandmustern daumt | La ojeada coge la ventosidad por pulgueando una humanidad de la hoja y de la no-hoja de los dibujos arenosos | Le coup-d’œil pique la venteusité en poucissant une humanité de la feuille et de la non-feuille des dessins sableux | The glomming gloms windiness by thumbing a humanness of the leaf and nonleaf of sandpatterns.
§ 83 | Doe
Mingled with the slightly strangulated yet giddy pangs one normally experiences after any therapization, I suppose — the freshly sutured caesarean agony des pondaisons foutues de mémoire, for instance, which typically ensues when, having failed to woo with his or her daimonic arts the desired omphalomantically endowed prodrome from the fallow id’s specular womb, the practitioner resorts to a hallowed procedure combining the mesencephalon-driven ptyalism evoked per angusta ad augusta, as Dr. Zeliony luridly demonstrated in his decorticate cats, with the peer-reviewed provocations inflicted on the tabooed skräckscen doppelveranciniato (double-harrowed protomorphic scène originaire) by my Selye-syndrome-mad tio abuelo, Dr. Tysin Tartis, un pobre desvarío de Lyon, pitufo merdrostrero y azulón de sarrillo, quand j’avais trois hélodées piges — was a sort of post-terpsichorean agony despondently limping around a bright circular clearing in a dark wood, mollified more by sheer physical exhaustion than acquired psychic enlightenment, like a gravid doe that, after catching a fore-hoof in a snare, had desperately danced in an adrenaline-charged crescendo of anchored, crashing leaps until, too fatigued to continue, it is the very cessation of struggle that liberates rotund Pṛṣat prāṇāntika, Pseudotrina bertholdi, Pecora pindelvnii, or whatever species our desperate spotted doe happens to be and yet still she dawdles, not yet daring to spring into the dark safety du bois larentien, the lingering sensation of cutting constriction causing her to doubt still le miracle qui a, avec force lisse art, délié hoof, dewclaws, pastern, fetlock. And yet neither species of these psychoparasitic opalinids of neural imagery and purblind agony posed necessarily as one of the two major type-specimens of doubled ontic experience (DOE) that I have usually encountered in my randy ἀγών ψεδνός (wantonly bald Venus-polemic) with la déesse Ὅροι Τῐκτομένη — begetter of boundaries, genitrix of limits, depraved oneiric matrix of the cosmic peekaboo, id est, Realia herself in person! For instance, the mnemonoclastic oneirophane d’oublis doublés (MOOD) where one tramps through the all too this-worldly zonae auris of seriate eidola hollowed out by a rote aide-d’analyse to such an extent that any particular word epitomizing the prevailing mood of the therapized storia della tua vita — “guilt,” “love,” “shame,” “dread,” “hope,” und so weiter — has been so trampled, squashed, punctured, pilonné, vidé crapuleusement of its viscerally vivid power that it’s been reduced to a defamiliarized stoic, a dissociated prowler dragging its besčúvstvenïy vitals ponderously, freudlos, innig over the cobbles d’antan, déambulant à débandé bossu such that we may now observe our favorite text-kitten, having just managed to extricate his or her tingling scruff from the gleaming, stomatognathic, absurd reasoning of an unkind, sour, feline Freud, in noli scortari me modo, gattonando up Rue Dos Pollastres in the classic Aboulie-Lazar Syndrome’s diprosoponine, caprid, vellicative, and far from handsome anirid cringe-and-duck mode itinérant, adhering to les façades d’immeubles as far as is pedestrianly possible. Then there’s the phénomène that so awed Proust qu’il s’est devenu lui-même l’espèce d’eroe ricercato par sa propre Recherche, to wit, the physiologically evoked working out of recuerdos doblados (PEWORD) which impregnate(s) one with the sensation of being una doppel vecina in realitates doubly ringed within by a triply noosed via urinalis such that the lewd sospiri origliati in a skewed pissoir du Bois whose soiled opisthodome I trammelled myself into simply because I had to lonesomely, or so I thought, piss, compel one to become a sort of ring-around-the-rosy pivot nailed, as it were, between, on the one hand, the muscular innuendoes of podsmotref Ruritanians who sprinkled their powdery spunk all over the graceful body — pristine, oval, burnished, promiscuous — del libido membranoso of my heterolexical textwork, and, on the other, if you recall, the twice-born, doubly valsé, pneumogastrically pinned, volubly aspirated uncle my Mère-l’Oie-haloed sister Lamia cried on and lean eloquent [? — NDLR] I loved — Tony’s riparian, that is, Alcmene-pained proclivities. Now, before you snatch away my pavonine Stresemann au bec doré (as condign in my fist as the emerald-and-onyx form-fitting lamé cocktail dress is to my supple corps) and shout, “You, my Callirrhoe-idealist, are operating on the flawed assumption that you can shape words to dompter l’indomptable, c’est-à-dire, to model the all too modulable flow d’éprouvées épreuves de la vie!” — before doing that, allow, de pronto at least, me to explain that, while a steady eidos-load of mind-body pang does nonetheless seem to readily point sovereignly to a solid œuvre étiologique, whether mingled or alone, laden with guilt or mangled too anomically with shame to be at all legible to less disconsolate donzelles, it seems that the post-therapeutic trauma I was and indeed still am experiencing derived neither from our MOOD’s broken shards and sharpened, tangled rods of memories embedded atop the wall of the present to discourage trespassers from the past nor from our PEWORD’s discharged packets of ditto evoked when the present trespasses into the secret garden thereof, since what I was experiencing was actual doubling (AD), viz., I was both click-clacking uphill in my high-heeled, vair-soled, pointy-toed, and sable-banded doe-skin gambadoes, and labent downhill, completely nude, in a flowing rush toward, not just or merely or simply another coerced reification du θυμός perdu de l’enfance, but the very Ding an sich of it lui-même — that is, I was both the mature Zana loudly rising to the occasion by cheerfully proclaiming her mirthful splendor, “Je vais foutre, mordre, et — si la tourbe dynamise en patois — entuber, drainer, baiser, tondre, putasser et aboyer à didymalgie delicious Pedro’s repu soddisfazione (sic)!” and the callow, depressed, noisily raped voti ludicri of/to/for Baby Dea-Dio berating itself, “Me gusta morder frutos secos and buenos y litarnos al buitre y dar ronde scherzose alla Diu Rynnäs und sbattere porismata” — and, since la moult fourbe dyade a trois, au moins, pipeaux à se faire tringler, it behooves us to employ the quixotic metaphors of tennis — lurid, fortuitous, tenably riddled tennis — in order to clitalyse the zenith of our climax which is that I was, in truth, the racket (X, ou instrument de carambolage), and the ball (B, ou carambolée), and the server (ou caramboleur (Y)), tandis qu’étant en même temps (Z, ou acte de caramboler) the served (A — in poplin cotton bloomers to boot! — ou carambolaire: dusty-nosed tyro poised, vainly perhaps, to return) to too.
§ 84 | Conid
Even as a child I did not confide in my esteemed sister, prancing about as she so recurrently and receptively was wont to do in a curiously creviced Norlian peplos avec le sperme de Tartis et al. running down her stout legs, as if she were an estrous young nulliparous cougar, a civette partouzarde, métissée Pratifelis lasciva, vulpine léopard vinciblement erronée par the opportune sins of the whole ribald pride of conviction-mired casuists, erectile exegetists, abaxile epicureans, visiting composers, curious losers, assorted posers, and morose persons of ill-chosen interest we were enjoined to call cousins, nephews, uncles, and etcetera, but had already begun to enjoy that supremely congenial, phenomenally fastidious form of catharsis that involves inflicting one’s temper’s tirade on the virginal white espaces between the black canvas covers of various foregone instars of unpaid ponce livrets homologous to the modus-traiciendi-proven calepin I now submit as almost de trop plain evidence, lexically pocked throughout as it is with the special pin dornverankerd dans le douillard, pavonine, pelican-slick body of my exquisite exile’s point de repère, dit “Stresemann,” as if they were a species of preliterate map desire trespasses into the vivace garden of its bel aujourd’hui with. I suppose the main reason they tolerated le déchirage cavilloso I subjected the ledgers of Momiji, Mori, and Cie to — the contractile, extrusive, vulvar colpi I penned on each page, craving in some abstract maudlin sense a coarse organ à détester méprisablement which I could not even imagine snuggling up to at the time, a campy, corny, tooth-, and colorless “pouvoir de pin” calé pneumatically into what I could not even suspect I’d grow to become a consummate maîtresse dépravée and outré master despite him- or herself and foutre-smeared priest et magnificent prêtresse médiatrice di mano soziofisiologica of; the polypenile exemplars of trepanned polpi I carved into their flyleaves while elephantine snollygosters operated on my sleek secret a priori cave-garden of tapering couloirs and narrow conical flowstones and fertile expansive grottos abloom with saxatile, extravagant, succulent, troglophytic flora — was because, being la plus puisne “ñeta” (neptis) of the family, everybody considered me to be their glorious pulcinella d’amore dont le blanc-mangé flanc d’aile ivre n’oppose même pas les moins importuns and whose diaphanous plumage, vicariously at least, all had a conscientious obligation to pluck, whose gracile exterior (sure sign of a healthy ontogeny!) all had a de facto responsibility to skin sententiously, and whose tactile experience and prehensile exploration and infantile exuberance and facile exploitation and versatile experimentation and labile exertions — all, frankly, were impetrated essayistically if not essentially with an, as it were, Eteocle-e-Polinice’d moral duty to poke their meat-red, piss-terebinthic paws into and defile, exaugurate, exenterate, and extirpate the burlesque viscera and garish offal therefrom and if not immediately consume the abominable sacrifice avant qu’il ne se gâte en putrides miettes, perde sa richesse lubrique même, burn and boil and more or less sterilize it before consigning it to the deer-mite-, rat-pessary-, and desperate-dermestid-haunted, bacilli-festered, ripe, steaming garbage dump which apparently, according to Eric Modiano’s Parisette des mers oubliées (Paris, Godin, 1994), the vicarage garden I’m now sitting in sur la Butte Mont-Chamarte beneath the Larix laureli (exotic bushy-headed conifer) and the Salix elegans and the anguished pears and the gigantic invasive Appalachian Bignonia sp. and the supreme reader’s psittacine amiconi d’ermitage where s/he confronts the sore carcass of his- or herself en chantant ces souvenirs désemparés et trichés par des vers innés, was built upon.
§ 85 | Abnorm
Both my recherches mnésoclastiques (RMK) and my CAR are coming along nicely, thank you, comme n’importe quel buveur de touraine ou picoleuse de chinon may witness when our hostess, a bonnie Maria-ibna-Maroneia, Lady-of-Pomp-and-Ceremony-in-Waiting type, ordered her kabaré minions to uncork magnums of both and as the splendidly gathered group of schizomythologists and sociophysiologists collectively clamored for their glasses to be refilled, la nostra eccellentissima e magnanima baronne initiated contact by laying a rude, rational, bare main on innocent, already (parce que j’ai bien normalement bu du ron et raisonnablement prit ma dose d’ail déjà) inebriated me et tièdement inquiring, “Don’t you remember, Tatie? I detained you in Owlstain, drue rôdeuse que tu es, tout à fait Pompadour! and tried picking you up by asking directions to the Dirna Route Café? Mais tu étais nomothétique then, I mean to say, monolithique! Est-ce que j’étais déjà trop abîmée de t’attirer?” “Mais non, mia Bona Reine! Vous étiez, vous êtes, sine motata qua nonata, la plus ravissante moinesse de notr’airure hétéroclite, une plagiaire ab Monna Vanna même! It’s just that any long-term kinesthetic mark, memory trace, or cryptoamnestic whatnot of that remote, insaisissable moment n’est plus, et donc la, comme on sait, mémoire n’a ni bâti son âme, ni aborné miasmatiques champs dudit moment saillant.” “Remote in a sense, I suppose, puisque c’était le mois antérieur!” And with eyes already too ailleurs to bother catching a glimpse of whatever frank hypostasian emotions or more enigmatic hamartia a bien normal scribe in a normal novel might choose to ascribe, in a normal social situation, to la proie d’une aporia bien normale, she unloaded me onto the nearest supplicant du raout (dîner cum scholarly drinks fest), who happened to be — Tony Miwa in-person! “Caro Tio d’Ūrane! Rivediamoci at last! Die beide Tiere mattsetzen sich again, not by mere coincidence, tu sais, but by the dark magic Dame Reality, in wan modulations of a phenomenalistic duplicity no man with a normally — nor, short of divinity, woman neither! — constituted sensorium can distinguish but, Caro Tio, in many ways all too blatantly obvious, banal, hackneyed, even, to those with the evolved ontic facility, refined quiddative acuity I’m now, naturally enough, a humble possessor of, employs to orchestrate a, plus tôt que plus tard, reunion such as this!” “I am in town, you know, because —” “Because of the parrots! I mean, yes, your piece in the Saint-Omer Matin Osé, I read it, or, Uncle Mein Trou, Darling Tied Eater, Bite Me! — pardon, Tierübel. Rather I devoured it randily while sitting cross-legged and straight-backed and rocking back and forth and rotating with increasing vigor my proteiform kundalini, my chimerical shawm-yoni anti-clockwise im bereitete tadellos Vergnügungsruck, ditto the other direction, on my tomaseni like the good little ćāraṇadāra, bonnie maiko (舞妓) you taught so well some twenty or more years ago when you said, ‘Don’t squirm, kleines Kindchen, just let yourself ease into melting’ until that distinctive hollow pulsating flow many initiates remain ignorant of, you remarked, even after years of practice, but which I took to, Sweetie, most naturally, begins to release itself from the deepest recesses of my manly yet effeminate bite, mitered, as it were, into a twain, yin-mouthed and yang-nozzled, monad, and slowly there spurts forth both the limpid, remote sanies of “majestic oosperm kenosis, omental parrhesia,” as you called it, Radoré Uncle, and the glib, near-amniotic fluid of an earthier rebirthing and all the while the parrots are squeaking above me and invoking the holy trinity womankind eternally invokes on such occasions — ‘Von der Schmiede, bitte, Artemis, Arethusa, Athena!’ — I’m born in aeolotropical modes of body-min — Tony? Wait, where are you going?” En souriant de reculade avec one hand smoothing my shimmery emerald-and-onyx lamé cocktail dress to suit die Form, Kraft, und Ziel of my déculotté métier, I bade with the other a spare minion absolve my thirst with a refill of chinon — may it wash down, may it ininquinate the bile of indignant constraint, rude opprobrium’s étain ordurier, O Anthesterian Bidure, O Amnestic Bouchet! “Ah, qu’il aime badiner tours comme ça, mon tireur adorable, fat rieur d’oncle! C’est le style même qui fait que l’homme fait de la coquette brimade étincelant —” but before I could further impress on the faraway minion the utter insignificance of my uncle’s precipitous fuite à l’anglaise and the, par contre, signal importance, à l’aide d’un mot aisément cité de Bergotte, Dibrei, Maeterlinck, Baudelaire, or Tünde, for instance, of my observations that, hiving in the obscure resinous goo we bring to light when we dip our clitalytical gourd into reality’s stinky, wanton, imitative, calyciform krater, es gibt mediate, reiterative kernels (MRK) of borrowed quiddity such that Dame Reality, now, manifests herself by inserting heaping handfuls of such MRK into some other author’s work, multiplying, thus, the improbability of definitively drawing open the dark, massive, silk brocade rideau, torn, tattered, and faded though it be, hanging between the vaporous but arid onerousness of her perverse ruses and the juicy, glaring onus probandi thereof, I was literally brought up short by a wee tribade emitting an articulate, metered, tibicine rasp into my sternum, a tiny wino, moustachioed and wizened, whose chin barely reached my elbow, “Want to win it man, you? Yo, man, I win tough tête-à-tête, round ribbon way intimate (sic?). Any woman I titivate, ticktock tidy up precise man too. Voilà! Carte.” Three lines of print, sans punctuation, on laid card stock in ichibai ornamental font, I read urbanely: “M R K | et Maison | Cosmetians (sic!).” Nothing on the verso. “Emme, Erre, Ka. Recall me. It means only: Medezin, Reform, Kosmetik.” And so next day, if we may call it that, after cleaning my tomaseni — gamy, oint, wine-dark with vomit — I flipped through mon journal intime and found the following entry, dated from avant que je suis parti(e) d’un orphique matin pour Paris, âme ontique de ces RMK ainsi que mon CAR:
On the way to play Tradine Oru with Dr. Rao et unitis aliis, not far from le Parc d’Orient au Recul, on Aime Street I betid a tempting young pretty “woman” in iromuji (色無地), a polite teatime berdache who asked, “Route Dirna? Inform, kudasai (ください)?” “Pardon?” “Oh, Entsuldigung (sic). Quelle rue to Dirna Café? Bitte à déterminer pour moi sa tendresse, pardon, Erutisan, I temo un po’ parlar la langue, I mean to say, adresse, s’il vous plaît?” “You take Lower Unit Road to Rue Dirnamira-te, bitte, de este inmueble with the mirage-like mural of Goya’s Asmodea? Turn right there. You’ll see the Pontasemi Viaduct up ahead, the street changes names accordingly, and in the arch at the corner of Griot Rue and Pontasemian Street proper you’ll find le fada site nom by those in the know, Indra Outré.” Not wanting to seem tattier, biederer than I’d like to appear, I turned around and proceeded back uptown in my aide-n’importe-qui fashion on Aime Street, and, knowing there was an in-the-park music festival, was passing through the gates when an uppity man in woman’s clothing — dark midnight blue sari d’un érotisme notable draped as it was in a rather extempore, untraditional manner that revealed far too much of the shiny, wan, moite, downy, intimate parts of his gaunt but nevertheless virile form; knee-high toe-socks horizontally striped in charcoal-gray, minnow-tipped brown, minty aigue-marine, bon-air blanc, und Rot arien beneath itome sandals; dust-yellow arm-knit infinity scarf; off-the-rack violet béret à demi tire; all held together by a sterling and ruby, very feminine Maïa brooch — me tocó para orinar tudesquement all over me with his spittle-prattled palaver, “Ich bin vedette I am treibende Kraft der musikalischer concinnity I am. Wo ist Stadion, my tawniest auntie?” I recognized him immediately, Mr. K, a gay Timon, winselwesentlicher bambocheur, rodential honkie, bitter, edematous churl my Uncle Tony used to crony about with in a phony “I’m wanita!” voice avant. I decided to aroint rudely the rude ratón, insolent mišao. “Use your little brain, man! Oí vos la música y seguí la!” “Schwerhörig ich bin! Way into mandapam! Show me, dirty woman inimical!” And with that, I turned around again, to go play cards. But the place was empty, except for a tiny wino, a moustachioed, turrancillical specimen of a questionable career girlboy, man-intwined-with-bawd type whose wizened cosa mentirosa was swimming in a ballon de touraine, drowning in it, so abnormally large did the glass seem in comparison to l’être mité débitant une spume de rire and toussaillant a hiccupy inwit-moan of bark-muttered invective. “¿Dónde está notre hebdromadarien tournoi, notre joute d’arrinconados ludibriadores?” I ask the evening’s sweet beer maid, titillatingly swaddling her old-fashioned embonpoint in a Wymysoryan dirndl, as she serves me my usual fifrequet. “They all went with Nobe Arinami to the park music festival,” she replies. “Qui?” “That Persian or Parisian tome (留女臈) in the long-arm kimono. I saw you talking to her on Aime Street on the way here to work my charms, alas, on no one but you and your little friend there.” I look over at the pungent ex post facto Schwefelatomsein of an unexpectedly depopulated backroom bar and down at my own inimitable de facto in vivo altissimo Amtsein. The thersitical invertebrate — timid, teetering, tittering, tumescent — had trailed its thalassic bave over le zinc du comptoir to vomit yawn-inducing lechery into my elbow, “Está mi nochera, está mi nodriza, está miñón, mi niñera abobada, mirette bitée, mi anima, boner, twat, yoni, minette, meat, birdie, ich möchte mit beide Art ertränken, erträumen, ertrügen...” “Mierda-te, bête titubante!”
Et je m’en ai stoïquement, I recall I must have done, chopiné ma sottisée soif jusqu’au petit matin osé, nu, raide, rotailleur when I would have come to somewhere in a rather disheveled état, bemired either with the sadinette, tiédie, barmecidal phlegm, kribbelige spunk of an androgynous gastropod or the grassouillette, ridée, ambitiously ambiguous and syncrastic dark mucus of a gynandromorphic cephalopod, or, most likely, both.
§ 86 | MRK
One is not born a maiko, one is made — orthodoxly schooled, that is, in the Minkowski-Smart Experimental Method with which s/he who walks esta prim, xeric via śabimakriya, by both hook and crook, strips examples provided by guru, book, and peer down to their drab monadic gonads, works, trims, expands them until they do rejoice dans le bon maraudage du temps vécu, vivant, vivable, vivifiant, et enivrant of the marauding maiko on the make. Nor can even the most unctuously repentant mock Mary, bikini-clad kore dolorosa, bogus hard-core devuška, strix empticia plagiata, or depraved orphelin(e) factice be simply ordered by some rapax Miss Rektorin des Sexakts, primitive hoodlum of the bedroom, barnstorming Swiss or Swedish pimp, stark ex-streetwalker, dominatrix, mass-kept mother-figure, or nail-biting Mrs. Takes-Pix-Sans-Notre-Concorde, to be a smirky, ambisexual, upmarket, six-string-strumming maiko — but must first be trained by means, not just of that graded series of prim sex tasks dont l’emploi voluptueux Ms. Petra skillfully instilled in us in Shatsbrook or the occasional high-risk praxis met with in your common rabelaisian boxon, rambunctious bagnio, or Devi-May-Kribbeln boy-man bordello across the border which ensure that our spiky Mirabell(e), our apprentice epicene whore docimastically progress(es) from tender onanism in the conventional classroom setting to amor delicioso in more developed outdoor débauches, but also by formal indoctrination into the other six arts Kempis outlines in his quirky Ab imagine χρίσματος. For instance, tandis qu’our beloved little lamb Norlia tries to prove that she’s meeting our cosmognosy teacher Mr. Astik’s expectations anent the “metaphorical representation of knowledge of man’s relation to the Kosmos” by copying out in longhand her mid-term paper, dogmatically entitled “Quand la révolution s’éclipse: Marxist kleptocracies from Kerensky to Trotsky,” I’m brainstorming with our music teacher Mr. Kibiya a six-part Meskhentian fughetta for countertenor, ambient clattering of pencils on desks, toy mbira Ikpeshi, viola da gamba rondeña, sanduku de kidumbaki, y mirwas à la Mésopotame (sic), thereby showing evidence of my grasp of “Melodie, Rhythmus, und Kontrapunkt” mises praxéologiquement dans l’aforementioned pièce, and while cheeky, slim, snarky, imbibulous Salamis parks textbooks, T-square, French curve, reduction compass, Trix Kegelschnitte, stencils, and Arches paper on and around her assigned drafting table in order to, in the company of our professor of geometrical chorology Ms. Tarski, explore how the “mathematical logic of geographical junctures” explains la différance entre un nombre pair et impair by making chorographical context-maps, risk-assessment charts, and Lobachevsky transforms of the infernal vernal walleye run up el Rio Sandusky, I’m riballando with our dance instructor Miss Park, extemporaneously rehearsing the choreographed salto derridando of the ribald mask tres pixies will be enjoined to perform with us and some ad hoc adult extras, skimpily clad young people, and a grope-worthy handful of the less common bardaches dansantes qui fourmillent dans ces régions, y mientras que our joint proctors of rhetorical kallistheniks, Mr. T. E. Spix and his wife Mrs. K. Spix, teach my sister Lamia, by Kirliotactic stimulation of her auratic peristellar bonamentería, how to ensure that her syllogisms spark extirpative discussions on difficult topics such as, for instance, Kripke’s Max Stirner biography, that her epideixis maps treks from the aesthetic to the ethical as compellingly involuted as the way her enthymeme-skirt’s paxilliform structure of argumentation charts praxis ekmochthenically from the mind to the body and back again, back at our (sic) “taks-ixempt” aśram’s swanky bar, I’m indulging our proctor of olitorical balanistics from Beulah, Texas, Mrs. Kipfernagel, by demonstrating my especially smirky ability to mix tasks, prepare drinks (Ms. Petra’s “Ixion the Rocks,” Mr. Spix’s “Teatot’ler’s Nightmare,” Kips’s “Maxtabiya Kirmess,” being among, pari passu, my favorites), mark, spixerō, and sweep rix, skat, smara, bon-marché poker, and whatnot under the carpet or out the back door depending, et pendant que pretty, born-male, gelded-roughly, patched-up-rosily Seoste marks Xiphosura specimens for prompt ex-arsis keynoting comme plats de résistance she’ll cook up with the help of madcap Mr. Asséx, kitchen assistant, I grab my ikiryō (生霊) and my ikabirabira (鰞びらびら) biro and on a sheet of graph paper which I also grab, I’m ikyokuru (委曲る), with Mr. Astik’s expert guidance, my triple-barreled, biphasmotical climax’s prest kurtosis of disgust and repulsion anent les intégristes uniastriques such that on the contempt axis, Erskine Caldwell serves as sanctimonious archetype while on the tsk-tsk axis empreignent tous les autres littérateurs who, from pious, incurious Tolstoy to that melodramatic bore Dostoevsky, brim aigûment with moralistic diatribes contre notre espèce qui est à la fois boyish and busty and girlishly tough, e mentre che from the darling musical mouth of adorably bored Nirusa, Mr. Kips extracts, by methods most foul-smellingly Svengalic, sobbing old-world melodies, hot new-world rhythms, and thick out-of-this-world harmonies which Mr. Kibiya then transposes into the synoikist pars ex multitudine in unum bon à rien demi- and semi-quavers reminiscent more dependably of Tchaikovsky than of Stravinsky, I’m abriendo, abrigando, y abrillantando los principios Mr. T. E. Spix Kantianly, aidé par sa femme Mrs. K. Spix, étale comme les vrais fondements des humilium (ignominieux), affectuosium (affectueux), tempestuosorum (tempétueux), concupiscentis (convoiteux), curiosorum (curieux), gratiosorum (gracieux), ac mucedorum (mucilagineux) arts Kempis insists neither eager beast nor secular woman nor queer man objects to being subjected to, and while demonstrating the influence of Pieter Valckx’s flowing religiöser Plastik — ambry installations; stark apses’ mixture of the broadly baroque and the diffusively new; sedate transepts’ X markings: square, high, mysterious; gilded reredos in holy bark, imitation marble, and faux masters’ kippeliger Gemälde — on the abstrakt prisms, exultant mises en mirky abîme, and translucent colored etchings of Victor Servranckx, Tessa primly bounces and chafes her sweating thighs in some sort of entrechatesque shearing autour du fouetté frappement Miss Park extrapolates, à l’aide de redondantes sissonnes, from the child — frisky, frolicky, spunky, and pawky — I’m braiding all of the foregoing into my kirabiyaka (綺羅びやか), méticuleux, pâmé, kiss-transmuted, orodigital traîtement (sic) of S. E. Spitmarkx’s
Achte Pfeilschrift | Octava Flechacritura | Huitième Flèchecriture | Eighth Arrowscript
§ 8.1
Der Blick daumt eine menschliche Silbe im luftigem Rauch | La ojeada pulguea una sílaba humana en el humo airoso | Le coup-d’œil poucisse une syllabe humaine dans la fumée éthérée | The glomming thumbs a human syllable in airy smoke.
§ 8.2
Der Blick enthält die Menschlichkeit der Silben, die er daumt | La ojeada contiene la humanidad de las sílabas que pulguea | Le coup-d’œil contient l’humanité des syllabes qu’il poucisse | The glomming contains the humanness of the syllables it thumbs.
§ 8.3
Der Blick sterbt mit der Windigkeit überein oder nicht; er ist riesig oder unriesig, wahnhaft oder fahl | La ojeada muere con la ventosidad o no; es fuerte o débil, loca o pálida | Le coup-d’œil meurt ou non avec la venteusité; il est fort ou faible, fou ou fade | The glomming dies with windiness or not; it is mighty or weak, deluded or pale.
§ 8.4
Der Blick daumt, was er daumt, unabschrundig von seiner Wahn- oder Fahlheit, durch der Finger der Abhandlung | La ojeada pulguea lo que pulguea, no desarticulada de su locura o debilidad, por medio del dedo de su tratamiento | Le coup-d’œil poucisse ce qu’il poucisse, non déchiré de sa folie ou de sa fadeur, par le doigt de son traitement | The glomming thumbs what it thumbs, unshorn from its delusionment or paleness, through the finger of its treatment.
§ 8.5
Was der Blick daumt, ist seine Stelle | Lo que la ojeada pulguea es su lugar | Ce que le coup-d’œil poucisse est son coin | What the glomming thumbs, is its locality.
§ 8.6
In der Ufereisenschwimmen oder Nichtufereisenschwimmen seiner Stelle mit der Windigkeit, blättert seine Wahnkeit oder Fahlkeit | En la natación por orillas heladas o la desnatación ídem de su lugar con la ventosidad, hojea su locura o debilidad | C’est dans la nage par rivages glacés ou l’anti-nage itou de son coin avec la venteusité que feuillette sa folie ou sa fadeur | In the shore-ice-swimming or not-shore-ice-swimming of its locality with windiness, its delusionment or paleness leafs.
§ 8.7
Um zu erkennen, ob der Blick wahnhaft oder fahl ist, müssen wir er mit der Windigkeit vergleichen | Para conocer si la ojeada es loca o pálida debemos compararla con la ventosidad | Pour reconnaître si le coup-d’œil est fou ou fade nous devons le comparer avec la venteusité | In order to discover whether the glomming is deluded or pale we must compare it with windiness.
§ 8.8
Aus dem Blicke allein ist nicht zu erkennen, ob er wahnhaft oder fahl ist | No se puede conocer sólo por la ojeada si es loca o pálida | À partir du seul coup-d’œil, on ne peut reconnaître s’il est fou ou fade | It cannot be discovered from the glomming alone whether it is deluded or pale.
§ 8.9
Ein a priori wahnhaften Blick gibt es nicht | No hay ojeada loca a priori | Il n’y a pas de coup-d’œil fou a priori | There is no glomming which is a priori deluded.
§ 8.10
Der luftige Blick der Türspalte ist der Gegenstand | La ojeada airosa de las puerta-brechas es el objeto | Le coup-d’œil éthéré des porte-fentes est l’objet | The airy glomming of doorcracks is the object.
§ 8.11
«Ein Sandmuster ist dienstbar» heisst: Wir können uns ein Blick von ihm malen | «Un dibujo arenoso es servicial» significa: Nosotros podemos pintarlo una ojeada | «Un dessin sableux est serviable» signifie: nous pouvons nous en peindre un coup-d’œil | “A sandpattern is obliging” means: we can paint a glomming of it.
§ 87 | OW
Anyway, I woke to find that the afternoon’s post-therapanderasmic random obambulation had led me into la Cour Carrée du Louvre where I was circumambulating the decrepit fountain as if it were a bloated, festering sow’s corpse I’d so warily, wearily, and otherwise widely avoid if I could but to which I felt my somnambulant self tethered powerfully by an unavowed portent of mesmeric doom, as if the wan río gangoso, mnemotécnico, moss-grown, ominoso, garganteado of said fountain was my own mildewed pro vita micta, my own morbid sorrow’s torpid πτῶματοῥοίᾱ, my own flyblown groaning somatoplasmic tallow- and marrow-like grume around which a gaggle of highbrow pederasteratricians, five-o’clock-shadow pervastigators, and Skid-Row epistemediatolologists seemed still to be flocking like a motley wake of unruly ravens, lone owls, desperately wan lovelorn swans, roaming gooneys, and bald vultures. I realized that, to severe the putrid umbilicus binding me to the Pavlovally sewn onerous weight of ersatz “explanations” and ineffectual “treatments,” I must needs escape while those aforementioned omophagous Geistesgeier, Seeleneulen, Sinnesschnepfen, und Bedeutungselstern were still furiously bent on waging a moron’s ontomachy with their vicious logic’s insult-sown organon magique of bankrupt words, moot priestly rituals, ass-wipes’ double talk, and circular, straw, dogmatic “meditationes de prima philosophia” aiming to wring a gnomon’s addi(c)tive peepshow — predictable, nonrandom, orthogonal — out of the random, obscure polypidom of moody premonitions and expectant memories spanning ce que nous autres sirénologues call mind, matter, soul and dash out the nearest triply arched passageway, celui du sud, par exemple, which, we observe in passing, co-opts two prodromic, fully grown imagos (anonymous studio models, really, each in her own skewed-proportioned way representing “Woman, or, a Gnostic Muse”) for its borrowed paranymphal pendants — Gumery’s Circé (1860) and Lefèvre-Deumier’s Glycéra (1861) — and dart, thence, across la Seine via le Pont des Arts and as I’m doing precisely that, from one of the dark corner bowers of that three-fingered psychopomp’s torrid twilight there irrupt most rorid, powerful, bellowing moans, groans, lewd provocations, and atonal love yowls reniflant comme des ébrouements écumeux of svelte yellow sea cows and brown lovely lean sirens surfacing and splashing and spouting like Aesop-wise dugongs in a raw moonlit lek I saw once from la terrasse of Manowar Gingoons’s epicurean maison à grog on Wyoming’s Warongano coast and as I approach those randy growls issuing from what I, à travers the dim light and the rowdy crowd, perceived to be a moody cowgirl on the topmost prow riding amidships a well-endowed Priapus tandis que deux autres take turns irrumating the hard, powerful, sword-like phallus of an ontalgic walrus (OW), an oneiric seascape recalling nothing so much as the mood-inducing smart words of Oscar Wilde’s only real novel, What Never Dies, which is actually a low-verse, non sequitur translation of Barbey d’Aurevilly’s Wallon rénové, as well as, for instance, Wallis Yellow Steel’s neotenic bestioles of the alpestrine backwoods — prompt tritons, torpid spotworm borer larvae, swollen only-begotten newts — “Mordi troppo!” suddenly interjects Pedro when I try doing something I seldom do: prompt trois dowdy digits of ancillary love, slow-ennobled crescendoes of finger-thumb delight to prop two “Morts-dieux, morts-dieux!” athwart what should be a gasping, yawning orgasm onomatopoetically wreaking its anatomical pleonasm on a Gorgonian woman gnawing rosorially, so to speak, on the swooning man’s argonautical quest to, in a word, “strapassonner” el ojo submarino of his own maroon gigantism: torpor-powdered Hercule lové, lorn wan Ysbaddaden Bencawr — pedomorphic manatees, lowly lentiginous lamantins of Lost Eye Well where our favorite undinologist first laid eyes on the muddy moody child; Toeyl’s Welle where he settled the bride-price (really two: Lee See and the Seu-phá matriclan each claiming their respective share); Lestelle, Wyo., where he informed his mother and sister that the child he’d bought was certain to develop “handsomely” (e’eł); Owlstain where I took the first steps wisdom literally — if we really must pin so vulgar a word on so wistful, worshipful, and whimsical an act — put in my mnemonoclastic path (sans any love or wellbeing lost on my part, mind you), enabling me to slough out of her brutal, exasperating, omentally woven, reason-leaching, black-widow’s spell so that I may more sensibly assert my self-possessed independence by donning and willy-nilly doffing, here in high-class Paris, a gown on gnomically bowsed, spiritously sirenian occasions such as this which, avec toute la splanchnic force of the foreshadowed preterition of sallow Pedro literally exploding dans ma bouche, resolves itself into a banal bunch of buskers from Kowloon or Krakow or Kwangchow or Kelowna or Katowice or Glasgow or Adowa, a downbeat trio of froward flowergirls blowing on a biniou and beating on a bodhrán and strumming on a tambura in the shadowed proscenium archway through which my own spunky fugue’s falsetto modulation from tonic to dominant flows from courtyard to bridge.
§ 88 | Aseli
D’abord il y est un je-ne-sais-quoi d’un inespéré, d’un insecouable, et même d’un insengoût de la vie garçonnière fermenting in the glairy limacien traçage, viscid antediluvian slime sozzled sweaty Pedro sedulously anoints my fauces with as we pirouette airlessly, fearlessly tilt, steer, eagerly tease, tirelessly test, rile each other to the vertiginous vertex élisant of the difficult rostral-caudal virage à califourchon (ski-splayed inflection) required to execute reciprocally a synchrismal variant of one of Eros’s typically more mundane modorum gaudentium, un je-ne-sais-quoi blossoming into a quelque chose, je sais, de trempé, transsudant, tractile, roboratif, insufflé élixir, sunstruck honey-aspic slurry, sarse-tempered tincture of embaumées parcelles d’inyanga-cured images of, for instance, me on my ripe sly knees gyrating in that bygone dusty library smack in the center of Aseli’s central fortress, admiré(e) et peloté(e) by my newfound Huerta-Fukari friend after I’d been banished, exiled, abolished from any possibility whatsoever of enjoying blondest Pierre’s meaty future bride’s taste permeating l’enchevêtrement à synapse dilatée, à malins types d’enivrement et dont on m’en a privé, agaçant l’ample souvenir à trois that might have been if only the sister of the first gropy shiksa Uncle Robert duly sanierte into the obscene spasmed litany of his Nines, in particular, said sister’s tempera détrempes and impasto’d hasty amas d’en plein air en la Playa den Missten, hadn’t transmogrified the prepared paysage vicarial de séduction into a frustrated parage vicieux d’insatisfaction, forcing me in my rejected, dejected, dairy-bloated, sunburnt, novel missa infausta (Shall I deny essential sociophysiological services to those who importune moi? No! And yet they dared deny all I selflessly could have done for and with them!) to fall back on our ancient vino-y-poil trade’s tricks, ploys en haute houri-forme que Ms. Petra deems tried-and-true for many a moult racolé(e), violé(e), auréolé(e) hetaïrosadique epicene comme moi but utterly lost, alas, on the all too hopelessly niais(e), solid heterosexual who simply cannot fathom that my fairy-feathered intercrura, sable αἰδοῖᾰ, and fiable sanies harbor a delicious truc d’asile tant rêvé by more advanced gropers whose ecumenically experimental natures prove impulsively, imploringly, impressively, immoderately, imaginatively, but never impartially the conjecture which predicts, explains, and accounts for, soit le fleuron d’asile y butant la couronne of some nectareous and horny Puck’s asile coquin, doublé, satyrique — oh, my scholarly brute, Adonis of the stacks! (he’d been a sailor before une gageure de mer l’avait lésé un été tempêtueux, making him unfit for the briny main, but not for the library stacks, supinely horsing around beneath me, or, ever lavish with his oats, pronely diving into me from the proverbial crow’s nest); soit le moment d’asile y pansant una llaga cerviguda (plaga cervicata) sufficiently enough to encourage a victim, dont Prey is, voilà, son très à propos name, of serial tête-rasée, cul-râpé, shins-yoked-together bastinados y burlerías (que era los Texicanos’ favorite tool for keeping n’importe quel asile vu, tenté et enchaîné) by means of a non-prémédité star-search on silky superb Ilesa-issued bedsheets (e.g., while I shockingly ease Prey’s more elastic parts open with my own multipotent truc, Renata’s diligent dildo plies yonivārtikka nyaṅga tandis que worldly Adam’s spine tenderly tingles like many a gai sale bâtard or voyeuristic voluptuary peeking, yes, sleazily staring even as sleek Prey gyniolatrically satisifies another of our special corybants-in-training’s requisite oral-sex needs) to metamorphose from a mere girl shaven and shamed, a sublunary garce avilie into a sex toiler supreme, celestial peccatrix, devadasi osée, heiltörichte in the sybarite sex locale, asile extorqueur und extrovertierter that teddy-bearish Gloria G. va censément établir in Owlstain with her séduisantissime partner voluptueuse, Maryam R.; soit le giron d’asile y pivotant autour d’une théorie d’asile aoriste y liant mes pans d’étourdissant passé lydien à mon lové esprit astartéen most enchantingly unfurling une théorie d’asile solitaire despite the squeaky green spies lynching themselves occasionally just to get my attention dans ce vert asile pour mnésoclastes qui est vraiment mon asile viscéral, mon petit dream resserré abri, mon montmaratraîneux vicarage et non pas un asile trop vaste, regorgeant non plus d’exilés outre que moi et les remerdées psittacine compagnes beneath whose nest I’ve returned to after finding it all but impossible to stanch l’asile — inchoate, ancho, las, eh, clinically therapized — of my familiar dissociative state — what, with the sibylline, à l’aise buskers’ Orphic Skalen y soufflant, frottant, tambourinant into said fleuron, moment, giron, ou quelque chose d’autre d’asile y enlevant tout mon suc, kephir, lay skyr of consciousness clad in a byrnie d’absolut (sic!) silence anent how it was I happened to come to in the Cour Carrée of the Louvre, a stern, imperturbable duo of admirably nude stone seductresses leering down at me! — and so, making my own music sharply, kenotically as if ejected from my beak comme un crachat de kadamba ink, je lâchais le chinon que je me faillis noyer à but dédaignable avec and slithered across the turgid, brown, flood-swollen Seine, la Seine baveuse, la Seine vêtue tête-bêche de limon, via le si souvent emprunté Pont des Arts en suivant le prémoral avis of faithful, playful, nocturnal Proust: Never imagine your materials, mein Autor pervers, and never note: a prism, luminous and lucid, matures in le provocant, puissant repli morveux de la mémoire, turns Pavlovian stimuli, Sartréen повторение into pert, marvelous, nib-clinging, magnetized riens, moult prévalents qu’imprévus à l’entortillage such that the experimental survol of your Parisian strolls, mein Autor prévenu, will coalesce into the rich tapestry — ovoid, linkworked, entangled — of an exiles inenubilable, perhaps inenarrable, even, vie cargada de los errores, los dolores, los recreos, los ardores d’Eros which, when all is “yedded an dyde” (to put it in the slinky prose Chaucer bequeathed us), constitute the, according to Nabokov, “introrse ampleur d’éclats” tirant ultimement sur le temps raté, désiré tant comme on en convoite des fétiches, moult réparé, inventé involontairement quand même.
§ 89 | Diem
I’m now a tiny bit irate et démenti(e) à l’avance par the fore- and woebegone mistakes shaky, shivery, dartoid memory is wont to impose druement, dramatiquement, drolatiquement comme un jaseran étourdi sur le gland tiré ouroboriquement de la maladroite urne du réel. I recall, for instance, passing down la rue d’Art Inouï after having scrambled partway across the Seine to a small island, l’île St.-Syman-de-Panurgie, and being suddenly accosted by the macaronic, made-in-glawnïy-Tomania ejaculation of a concupiscent vieillard, an edentate eremite biding his time in a little green box of sorts, a shrine slash buvette baited reminiscently with a truncated, iron, urgently sizzling, flat-topped lingam set into an otherwise nondescript wall. “¿Čé xoléz, anà? ¡Dime!” Though thinking at first that what his slimy, wanton, indelicate, yawnïy, timonistic wink sought for in tawny moi was the twain yoni mottled, morticed, and mantled in easy spanking distance of the gamy twin naoi of my dreamy Tiān (天), I, on weighing the possibilities in my mind, realized that his bearded eyes were undressing nought but an exquisitely membraned tourist, hungry, thirsty, and browned from overexposure to daringly unclad statuary. And so I order a Nutella and banana crêpe and watch him anoint, Ywain-like, his double-tiered metate, big bilig of a poêle, with two steaming, perfumed pats, insanely hissing as they melt, spin, and saucily evaporate, of beurre de Bretagne, then dole out a spiral dollop of emulsified batter teeming with cider, moaning with orange blossom, entailed with vanilla, spreading it thin with a spatula and then, salivating, to patiently wait for it to bubble et atteindre à outrance une épaisse dorure tandis qu’our unerwartete maître débite with a lovely spasm a tendinous dime of Nutella from a telescoping tube and, en même temps qu’il la donne, la crêpe, un adroit renfoncement qui la fait sauter ordinairement, he somehow manages to slice a scapose plantain’s demystified, hogtied bête matérielle out of its gagman’s peel and its yellow integument detached thus from the the slain pet’s dynamic act of tumbling onto the voluminous puddle of glistening brown bittersweet uncannily massed pâte puts me in mind of the well-researched and -planned essay I tmetically penned in a tree-shadowed clapboard unit remote from the rest of the institute’s laboratories (Bénatrou dirait something about the elms and the poplars and the sound of their wind-tossed feuillage scraping and banging against the windows and the roof, but I say to Bénatrou: I’d rather not!) anent how tiny animals react to a pain-laden système nerveux (“Es que la bestia,” I asked myself, “se siente de ti? Iba meterme,” I concluded, “en lo que he destruido: entrarme à tisonner en su alma serena, he entonces borrado toda memoria de pena.”) such that our productively moist man eases the supreme construction over onto itself and slides it off the beau ardent iron and into a prophylactic cone of paper and hands the edible rondeau ritualistically into mis manos eticosas as a lover would drop a rose intaminata into celles de sa trop friquette bride. “Eat, mirgoulette! ¿Dzéni, amà?” And as my dimidiate bite tremendously sheers the proffered blossom of sliced congealed hot cooked raw and melting bliss, I sense (j’entends) la voix d’une petite Berma tièdement grating on my cochlear ganglia in a manner bizarrely tender and yet mildy wild, tense as a nymphet practicing the melody the speedy lamantins used to court the spindly manatees dans la Mer Médoise with: “Maman, toise-le! Ça mord pis encore que ç’aboie! Un art drôle et mis à nonnette de mie tribale, hein, maman?” “Un demi, por supuesto, my briny man! Wot I,” says mantled I pendant que notr’on-site man opens a bottle of Chukchee Bitter Mead, I think, and I turn a red oeillade towards the tyke, “wot I want, moy ninfa malenkaya, ist ein demi de bière et ta tropengeschütztliche Blüte!” “Qu’est-ce que la tarie bête me dit, maman?” “Tiens, ma ouistitite,” the whiny woman titters and takes her musical child in hand by the elbow, “tiens!”
§ 90 | Redo
If I rightly interpret a subdolously stark mot nimble Bénatrou dit sprovvedutamente in his “Deux Sonnets sur l’Anastomose du Xiphopage,” “grim Kripke” would explain the “queer form” — kinetically razed ruins of doomed indifference simulating the simultaneously birdlike and ferocious face of the potential sour dybbuk inhering “dans presque toute rencontre” — which the all too suddenly acquired power structure of the roughshod mother-daughter duo’s exasperated exodus en direction du square St.-Bartholomew-de-Porphyrie from the factitiously unavowed presence of duo-sex moi — as if I were an unshod monological lunatic with a pint o’ beer sturdily grasped in one hand, a squalid pavonine crêpe in the other, and not the elegant scholar(ess) on an all-expenses-paid séjour sociophysiologique, muni(e) d’un stylo à biréfringence et d’un débordé calepin, proving, thus, that I am what I am! — took on by
“imitant the slipshod
tto Gertrude Stein, bopanjo du langage
universel, a dit: ‘by noun I mean
the name of any thing’,”
c’est-à-dire, “le Ohio soleil” emanating from the physiologically evoked working out of recuerdos doblados (PEWORD) “powders,” à la lewd, profane, brandy-bloated Verlaine copping a Sunday-morning feel
(“je me souviens
du dimanche masqué
en premier communiant
et ton petit tonneau dont
l’honneur blond
y étais
-je maniant”)
of his creamy-thighed niece or red-creviced ctine de fille, the proud flesh surrounding the dark “morsure,” the upcurved “plaie” poncingly inflicted on the mnemonoclastic oneirophane d’oublis doublés (MOOD) by the doubled ontic experience (DOE) de aquella tarde remota en que dos exuberantly drunken, out-of-work mechanics, taking both of my hot little paws in their enormous calloused manly ones, led me panting into the latticework miroitement of a distant seaside gazebo, drosky shed, stables or something and the stupendous extumescences qui commencent à gonfler leurs pantalons quand, hitching up my frock, they caught sight of my hybrid framework, my palpitatingly innocent sex doublé, my patchwork moule y bisant drôlement comme una marea giovane di polpi cernuti, cernés, cerniendo, même, et voici the “queer term” Kripke so bordophiliastically, declares Bénatrou idly in op. cit., used (note that it is a hendecasyllabic lipogram on all but six of the letters of the alphabet):
“A rape is a rape is a rape is a rape.”
Whereupon our four favorite mad modal model tenors — Dr. Avílano, “Pédé Principal,” Bimkov de l’élite day- et boarding-school whose dux παιδαγωγικός I bore Doskoyevstian [Ça convie à piper! — NDLR] witness to during certain instars of my New Lexican nymphage; Dr. Powell, nasobuccally razored unisexual bepowdered square-jawed prober of harrowed personal pronouns currently conducting his doux services out of offices located on Euterpe Rd., Owlstain; Dr. Powers, dragon-clawed provocateur of highbrow dependent clauses les hasardeux soutiens duquel this informant took advantage of in the workroom disposed or borrowed purposely for such in the Appalachian Community Center on Phalarope Rd., Owlstain; and Dr. Powelson, touch-wood merry-andrew pouncer on well-endowed prurient and petitio-principii-dream conjunctives, clitics, copulas, expletives, and genitive whatnot the amused Oxonian accents of which or whom having induced me to procure skewed stewed slewed profit therefrom in his Academy of Primitive Morality on Menippe Rd., Owlstain, I did — rather violently jerk my cathectogenic cheiro- and pedipalps away from their respective loci καθαρτικοί and concertize orally and surpassingly rabiotés,
“Und wann wurde diese Doppelvia
ere, recreodiccia pen-
lover, dipn
osophist extraordinaire,
notr’abusé(e) dirt petrozsi, D. I.?”
Mezzo-soprano moi replies:
“It must have been that (malgrado lo che dica)
ng when I was walking in mezzo di striés
cailloux de la playa.”
In response to which artistically zanier, sudorific Dr. Pewowski, basso profundo, lazily rears his head from the shrewd optic-auricular palpations of the underdeveloped wraithlike “gercé or de cerise” exhibited grosso modo, comme les circonflexes doux des nixes douces du Rhin, of the moist aréoles he distends by applying surgically furbelowed pressure with a tuning-fork melismata continuata and from his deep dark mealy mouth there issues an even deeper unison defilement involving the sort of subdominant-tonic mierda, plagally crooked B. S. your sardius-robed oktavists operating in that jaunty bordel situated on Argiope Rd., Owlstain are wont to bellow predaciously,
It is der Zorn
you are feeling in der bosom, moite darlink, ja?
Der Zorn? Als il y a ums Urtor fordern
ein fonds luride, ja?
of bile and sour typhoidal tree aiões
serrando dein Herz, ja? Please to allow
orsal suctation to remove and cure, ja?”
“It must have been, yes, when, from their sunshot îles,
roides à e
xpirer presque, las golondrinas
volvían. Piden preciosos árboles huecos
pour y construire leurs nids.”
Dr. Iésoé Aléothia, mon ami de crin, originaire de Gerdoransvidal but now making and taking in Shatsbrook decisions affecting that city’s Institute’s chaperons’ ardent management of their wards’ ornery behavior, sized to match, with his Schwerer Spielbass, the polyglot mashup Sir Osmid performed, par exemple, in Frans de Ganzert’s I Dioscuri au Soir dem Pissoir, embarks upon the following escheated arioso Liedchen:
“But was there ᾰ̓λέοιο, D. I.?
Was there soiled οἶκτος διὰ στόμα?”
“I must have been stroked, sobbing;
I must have been poked so brazenly
that it burned oily as melting tallow,
lagued and blood-mottled as briny
ranos’ pud rebitten by sea cows.”
Right on cue, sympathetic, never-too-moody, rat-bodied, eager-eared toad- y bisex, double-frogged Pedro warbles in submerged castrato,
“Did ye be a dear boyslut in a tidy
Edo-era ba
unyado, sterblichesly
afraid, quando i crímenes
ti caddero, mi ancillulita?”
“It must have been before my cherry
was ritually unsealed hetairo-
kumenically — if it ever was, that is.”
Baritone Dr. Tartis, peu bavard, trop bêtisé, nui d’avoir bu dans le Tyran, grand pub de Lyon, tsarist and bourgeois, intones sprechstininimically,
“Mais comment ça, and, nièce,
por pliv
ající Boga, pourquoi?”
“It must have been, mon Oncle Priape Vide-Bouteille,
comme une firework monstration de la Gaya Scienza
dully arros
ant — from the dugong’s ugly milk-dent
au Trober’s pi
tiless, pilose, picaresque sphincter
tout mon corps in order to, in their version,
allay druž
nïe compulsions envers moi.”
For his part, Dr. N. Soréa, countertenor falsetto, prend à bruire du guêpier bordant stéganographiquement his atelier aedo-ordalico,
“Est-ce que vous étiez si rôdé(e) déjà
par des baladins? Зело yurraamu
vous vous y déjà arrosiez? Unladylike, indeed meussieudam-meu!”
“It must have been alors que j’ai commencé
to modestly take or bosdvennishly
make quelques pas vers une théorie
d’asile ao
riste —”
which is not, may I remind you, une espèce de nostalgie, nor do I boire rhum pour, contrary to the misinterpretations your critical literalists typically bandy about, oublier le temps foutu ou manger d’ail pour en faire table rase but before I can dilate anent the malapropist-orbed nature de mes recherches mnésoclastiques (RMK), from out of the chorus of gumshoe editors liés au quatuor of our tenors ainsi que tutti quanti au comptoir du Café des Dos Péru, there emerges Eric Modiano, ever jealous of Bénatrou’s Lydian cadences, embarking on a rhapsodomantic rodomontade to various hired stoolies, each dipsomaniacal clod more cuit(e) than the next, the gist of which being que les inflexions de la prose du roman expérimental (RE) have, in fact, been borrowed — plagiées, même — from l’angliche œuvre rimée (OR), comme notre master guide, stern bopatro du langage universel, Samuel Johnson, a pdit dans son livre sur le sujet, et que les nuances de la prose du roman didactique (RD) are nothing more, en fait, que l’enive chaloupe bridant très justement the sociophysiological bollard Zeliony’s auratic experimental resections (ER) inflicted on the schizomythic dockhand, Harold “Childe” Rimbaud, mooring said drunken boat there, à propos duquel,
“Qu’est ce que vous me diriez, sot(te)?”
Just then our mother-daughter duo exsurges, bearing olisbiform breadstuffs marked with l’insigne d’une well-known patisserie-boulangerie, from the avowed provenance du square St.-Bartholomew-de-Porphyrie, depriving me of the chance to perform — keen, kitschy, kinky, circumlocutory knight of the verbal riposte that I am! — the multiform Kunststück I was on the verge of emitting, à la merkwürdigem Kripke, mit geheimkräftigem Kreuzverhör.
“Regarde-toi, mom!”
The child foolishly flings a deictic digit athwart the squeeze and stamp of the narrow street’s wide-trafficked itineracy.
“Que ça morde fort sur-le-champ. Ça boive, lippencrandmême!”
In the lower range del mio mezzo, warmklinge ich unflinchingly:
“Je vais te mordre au teton bis, p’tit folion!
Je vais te mordre au bestiot pneumatique!”
La mère tears the sharp end off the ficelle campagnarde she’d jabbed my knee with in passing, and hands it to l’adroite mômichonne.
Tiens, Berta, pour démerder le travelo.”
Ladite momorrita stops au coin and pouts back at me with the sanctimoniously foredoomed, powerless, head-tilted mojigatería of a crude, reborn psittacid, as if to say,
“Quid rides? Mutato nomine de te fabula narratur,”
and while loosely gripping the brown crusty spike in her upturned right hand as if it were la cheville éstropiée d’un trabajado y thumb-screwed pordiosero, she sketches with her left the provocative cupping gesture the kid-gloved, baume-painted sor, turbaned and teary-eyed, makes in that painting by the Master of St. Bartholomew, Por debajo del Sayón Tribunal, then bares her teeth and bites. If life aped art more adroitly, this hag-seed of a text would end here, simultaneous with the mother-child duo’s explicit exodus en direction du Pont du Site Barré. However, the mediate, reiterative kernels (MRK) of plundered powerful pathos Reality bundles into her creature’s perceptions rarely Zuladungen liefern aus dem shiny, stored-up, pillaged bounty “realism” of the sort I redound with, react to, represent, and transcend, claims to chart the recounting thereof. And so as the salacious child and her prim mother slip round the corner, the solidaire oestre poétique, musical, gustatif, et mnémonique gets sideswiped by a foreign burst:
Te dao brẽ turpins, señorita. Lyub davay.”
Speaking of “queer terms,” what’s that for when the various noumenal foramina of the several phenomenal lacework mondes — my DOE, my MOOD, my PEWORD, my MRK, my RMK, my NDLR so beautiful! — your noetical tentacles had been intromitting themselves into, contract without warning, like a sphincter labialis posterior tensed abruptly, all too abruptly, and the manifold throes — a-ïé, a-ïé! — of hapto-glottal synesthesia derail — é-oo! — and collapse with a softly sighing spluttery “pop” into the singularly infirm kraurotic abscess of a mere taskwork monad, merī ἄτομος, flavorless quark, mot à pas plus que deux ostioles?
I ask Mr. Cpier.
Brẽ, dosko. Crêpe. Pivo. Ladnin.”
He answers by avidly positing a dyad of obscene hand gestures, the first sveltely socratic and reminiscent of celui fait par Da Vinci’s sfumato’d Arjuna, the second designating a vastly more gymnastic and viscerally suzerain ordeal.
“You want me to do ¿¡what!? in your be — ”
D.S. al Fine.
Dist i zéro. Crêpe lin, and pivo aussi. Dist i zéro! Twaanty!”
§ 91 | Exodus
Following the desperate dash from our Mexisi-besieged sanctuary (most of whose inmates we successfully rescued, retrained, and reordained for the bisexuée pornomastic bodywork’s praxis et mélodieux Akt impressionnant for which Gloria’s and Maryam’s pet project, Glamporium, instaurated not long after in the old Methuen Ironworks in the Old Port, was soon to be renowned in Owlstain and beyond) to the mainland, I penned an account of our insular séjour and precipitate exodus therefrom in prose, a poem on Texican atrocities (the centuries-old library of Ksar Pexmits could be seen burning in the distance, for instance, and I never saw my anonymous bibliophilous flame again) as I’ve already mentioned, and the following
Sonnet on Spitmarkx’s Experimental

Opuscule, fille de la velléité
au voluptueux dont l’étroit procédé
t la traitée cadelure de l’obsédé
t l’ailée chimère d’une eccéité

cadencée où est né l’ardente ipséité
nassée par le fantasme possédé
t l’agitée cadette du vieux pédé
cité a
u-dessus et fou d’extranéité

décadente portant, en taulard militaire
une truitée cadenette de cocardeau
une miroitée cadène d’oublis traduite

à décelantes images — très littéraire! —
et l’idée catégorique dont le fardeau
est vite cédé au cran de la lettre fortuite

which we shall deploy as a suvarćaska prism textually distinguishing le pâteux νομός réel in which muddy mortal creatures — oxen, mopsis, skunks, tapirs, Mexican beaded lizards, taupes, more oxen, and corbeaux — nose et romp et wallow et render leur mornes peaux étonnement luisantes from the factitious νόμος péteux “Reality” — cette verdâtre espèce de psittacidé éternuant — would have us believe that a sui generis brumous tissue of beaux tropes, omens old and new, coram nobis orders, sub judice ēdicta extēnsa, and other forms of despicable deceit a pompous, extra-energetic, yet nevertheless still hard-up inquisitrix’s Spermaktenanforderungen would invoke constitutes anything more than glib superstition and bourgeois brutality. Nous prenons d’abord la notion d’ipséité à décortiquer. Alors, we have in ipséité a decussate scintilla or décolleté cédille of personal identity which may be defined as an “interior” (i.e., given to experiencing a certain degree of proprioceptive “idiomastix”) mask persisting in its, the begirt mask’s, experience of an “outer” context’s mask, primitive yet complex, comprising a reflex “mask-esprit,” so to speak, encompassing un filandreux réseau nomopétaudesque d’enjeux ramenés topologiquement des jeux remontés à potentiels milieux which the first mask exploits for its own esteem’s Tarski experiments in self-expression and malgré que lesdits milieux ou jeux ou réseaux ou enjeux mask its repertoire of self-representations, eventually the whole complex mask spritzt, as it were, the elixir of identity into a brimming cup of ipséité décantée. But do not imagine this cup to be a passive receptacle — no, the cup’s matrix skeuomorphically secretes, and is itself an excrescence of, and thus reciprocally “locks” (cadenasse) to itself said elixir, i.e., identity, which is the correlatively possessed phantasm (fantasme possédé) de ces jeux de milieux ou réseaux d’enjeux. Et voilà la notion d’eccéité décachetée yielding, viz., l’eccéité de çà et là, that is, one’s current experiential, or “present,” context, which we shall call l’objet durant (OD); l’eccéité de cahiers, catalogues, calepins, und so weiter, constituting various recalled (“past”) milieux, ou l’objet(s)-souvenir (OS); and l’eccéité de carrière, the so-called “future,” or specular, object (SO) one imagines by repainting milieux past, reskimming the scum off the turbid turbulent cauldron of the present with ambition’s black art — spes mixturata, turpitudo licentiosus, and, in my own case, and at the risk, perhaps, of textaculatio praecox, cette persistante velléité d’écarter, d’écanguer, d’écaler, et d’écacher le vieux texte Spitmarkx sent down to us from days of yore, by first copying it, then translexicating it, then clearing the way for clitalysis (reference to einem sehr germane topos Uexküll speaks of, Umwelt, is, by chance, in order here?) — in order to chart a “life” for “oneself,” said life and self being the subject-object (SO, ou objet-sujet, OS) Dialektik Marx spese tanti parole dibattendo. And so thus, when we eventually take Spitmarkx’s epitaphian “object [which] contains the humanness of the syllable it therefores” (§ 9.2, infra) — tangibly paralleling “the glomming [which] contains the humanness of the syllables it thumbs” (§ 8.2, supra) — we shall come to understand that cette ipséité décantée (decanted ipseity) is no ennuyeux spark timespace disdains to court, seduce, fondle, and befoul, that is, it is definitely not an undesirable objet désincarné (OD) nor, since “we cannot therefore anything unairy, for otherwise we would have to therefore unairily” (§ 9.3), should we deem it a mystérieux sprite am skotopischem Sehen werfend von einem nébuleux master piskie; par contre, since “the blessing is the blessing tooth in its porous picture of the word” (§ 9.11), the possibility arises of its being more like un objet déjoué (OD) par “l’ailée chimère d’une eccéité/cadencée” (see my sonnet, supra), which possibility, in fact, Spitmarkx essays for us when he writes in § 9.1 that “the face of deluded objects is a glomming of the word,” and it, as one might say, dawns on us that not only is “l’ardente ipséité/cadenassée par le fantasme possédé” (op. cit.) the deluded object’s ekamukha (एकमुख), or Eingesicht (DOE), but so are any and all instances of ipseity tout court (prompting our man to expose Uexküll’s other locus delicti, Innenwelt)! For instance, mientras que mon vigoureux monstre à poêle grenouilleuse Pedro, despite his usual Marxist skepticism anent such sociophysiological “contraptions” (he’s wont to, like so many impétueux seamen, put oral hygiene avant basal) se lava en el bidet, cae en la cama, y empieza à y ronfler following his bottomless bibulous breathless sublittoral adventure, I am writing the foregoing at the desk devant la fenêtre in my room on the fifth or sixth floor I can never remember which for it seems only ten out of twelve times do I get it right, often fruitlessly intromitting my abject key in the trite lock, then banging my bruised fists on the impossible door to get Pedro to open since obviously his burnished key (I gave him the old one after having a new one doublé, as they say) is blocking mine de l’autre côté but then what happens? I blessedly hear the steep narrow spiral stairwell echoing with the arioso outburst of his bell-like voice singing the staccato notes, bird-like and pentatonic, of “Darum Pax reisst Krieg” from Pixis’s Mark Petronius from above or below and I realize I’ve climbed up a flight too far, or one too less, or else the door in front of me is brusquely flung open, and some vaguely familiar stranger rudely yet wistfully gawks at me most provocatively from my doe-skin gambadoes to my doe-spangled Edo-style furisode — yes! it is Pedro — mais non, c’est le voisin d’en bas ou d’en haut I’ve bumped into on the stairs, Mr. Peaks Six Times through le judas avant qu’il ouvre, or Mrs. Takes Pix of me on the sly (I think I’ve mentioned her before), one inhabits the sixth, the other the fourth so I must be on the fifth, nez pas? but then sometimes Mrs. opens Mr.’s door, and Mr., Mrs.’s, but fortunately, more than a good five-sixths of the time, the banal key slides in as usual, the mechanism turns once, twice, sans too much complaint, and the door as usual shrieks hopeful on its hinges then slams shut on this farcical pièce d’étages trompés with a tone of lintel-shivered finalité de caesura silvae and I am in my little room at the distraught desk — ce champ distrait de l’agon hétérolexique — devant la fenêtre et, pendant que Pedro in bed ronca quite loudly, I have spread out before me le cahier I was able to secrete within my person during the mad exodus bidding us embark avant même que l’épitasis began when an outburst d’obus à mitraille within the very walls of our pornocratic sancti invulnerabilis (or so we had thought) spooked us out of our tender orgies and into that old abrutissime partouse xénophobe où también entremezcla die Innen mit der Um called war pero me extrañó opuesto de voir mes amoureux potes ramonés into a team of courageux seamen outre-poids guiding us out of the compound to the fishing boats on the beach then rowing us out to les Frères Kidjaki’s ex-tramp-steamer thenceward on to Owlstain (dos hechos in particular stand out for a hapax kiss: Trembart conocía cabalmente el paisaje penoso extramuros y había que, faute de mieux, Renate me posó el ms.) bearing the holographic sosie of Spitmarkx’s epigrammatical recueil d’illuminés sutras (poème xénophonique if ever there was one!) complete with attached translexical marginalia où j’avais mis presque sans choix pat rimes, skizzenhafte notes pour examiner plus tard in that café de luxe at the corner where Rue Pont-à-Sème oxtails into Mpetix Rasskazi Street where tandis qu’Ida Teece sipped iced tea excitedly and Kim Sextrap studied Agacinski’s Rapt ex muliercula and Maleaumé Sexton pored over a proxénète’s mouvementées mémoires they congealed into the cited early sonnet (vid. supra) which functions as a sort of parallax prism sketching out my initial attempts at a clitalysis thereof, calepins with more recent ditto, various delecti aedestici (Bayle, Littré, Larousse, Anglarès, Wörterbuch, Slovar, Nouveau lexique de l’Angliche, Rivarol — aidez-moi!) to aid me in my search for le mot enchanteur, and, of course, mon strié stylo à plume porté on saxea eventa such as the aforementioned even. On m’a donné cet acheiropoïète cadeau (for thus does the strange export mean souvenance makes of each déité acéphale of detached unicity appear to us) on the occasion of my graduating from the Select Boarding Institution (SBI) located nei ventosi Barri Alti of my Ville Natale and, though its nib’s been changed at least thrice, its body twice, and its capuchon once, I cherish it more today than when I, agitée cadette who succeeded in dissecting an earthworm’s sex à Tixpu, who donned semiannually one of les captieux masks Prietañitas wear when the equinoxes’ μέτωπᾰ reunite, who at the taboo apex menstrueux of the month made condign pilgrimage to the Tixputano Eros Emetikos shrine atop Le Trou Noir, received it, c’est-à-dire, ledit instrumentum scriptorium which I may now employ, pendant que Pedro dort, to complete the translexicization of Spitmarkx’s enigmatic
Neunte Pfeilschrift | Novena Flechacritura | Neuvième Flèchecriture | Ninth Arrowscript
§ 9.1
Das Gesicht der gewähnter Gegenstände ist ein Blick des Wortes | El rostro de los objetos engañados es una ojeada de la palabra | Le visage des objets trompés est un coup-d’œil du mot | The face of deluded objects is a glomming of the word.
§ 9.2
Der Gegenstand enthält die Menschlichkeit der Silbe die er deswegt. Was deswegenbar ist, ist auch menschlich | El objeto contiene la humanidad de la sílaba que luega. Lo que es lugueable también es humano | L’objet contient l’humanité de la syllabe qu’il ergue. Ce qui est ergable est aussi humain | The object contains the humanness of the syllable it therefores. What is thereforable is also human.
§ 9.3
Wir können nichts Unluftiges deswegen, weil wir sonst unluftig deswegen müssten | Nosotros no podemos lugar nada inairoso, porque, de otro modo, tendríamos que lugar inairosamente | Nous ne pouvons rien erguer d’inéthéré, parce que nous devrions alors erguer inéthérément | We cannot therefore anything unairy, for otherwise we would have to therefore unairily.
§ 9.4
Man sagte einmal, dass der Gletscher alles sich scharen könne, nur nichts, was den luftigen Gebrächen zuwider wäre. — Wir könnten nämlich von einem „unluftigen“ Wort nicht sagen, wie sie aussähe | Se ha dicho alguna vez que el glaciar pudo agruparse todo salvo lo que fuese contrario a los airosos achaques. — La verdad es que nosotros no somos capaces de decir qué aspecto tendría una palabra “inairosa” | On a dit que le glacier pouvait tout amasser, sauf seulement ce qui contredirait aux infirmités éthérées. — En effet, nous ne pourrions pas dire à quoi ressemblerait un mot “inéthéré” | It used to be said that the glacier could amass everything, except what was contrary to the airy infirmities. — The truth is we could not say of an “unairy” word how it would look.
§ 9.5
Die Ebbe „der Luft widerspeichendes“ in der Speiche daumen, kann man ebensowenig, wie in die Gewohnheit eine den Gebrächen des Rauches widerspeichende Feigenohr durch ihre Kluftrosen daumen; oder die Kluftrosen eines Poles angeben, welche nicht existiert | Pulguear en el rayo el reflujo del “aire contrarayado” es tan imposible como pulguear por la costumbre a través de su rosa de grieta un higo de oreja que contraraya los achaques del humo, o dar la rosa de grieta de un polo que no existe | Poucisser dans le rayon le reflux de “l’air contrerayé,” on ne le peut pas plus que poucisser par habitude à travers sa cluse-rose une figue-oreille qui contreraie les infirmités de la fumée, ou donner la cluse-rose d’un pôle qui n’existe pas | To thumb in the spoke the ebb of “counterspoked air” is as impossible as by habitude to thumb through its crevice-rose a fig-ear which counterspokes the infirmities of smoke, or to give the crevice-rose of a pole which does not exist.
§ 9.6
Wohl können wir einen Sandmuster rauchig daumen, welcher den Gebrächen der Fischschuppen, aber keinen, der den Gebrächen der Gewohnheit zuwiderblättert | Podemos pulguear humeantemente un dibujo arenoso que contrahojea los achaques de las escamas de pez, pero no uno que contrahojea los achaques de la costumbre | Nous pouvons poucisser fumeusement un dessin sableux qui contrefeuillette les infirmités des écailles de poisson, mais non pas un qui contrefeuillette les infirmités de l’habitude | We could smokily thumb a sandpattern which counterleafed the infirmities of fish scales, but not one which counterleafed the infirmities of habitude.
§ 9.7
Ein a priori riesiger Gegenstand wäre ein solcher, dessen Menschlichkeit seine Wahnheit bedachte | Un objeto fuerte a priori sería aquel cuya humanidad techase su engañadidad | Un objet fort a priori serait tel que son humanité se toitit sa trompicité | An a priori mighty object would be one whose humanness beroofed its delusionment.
§ 9.8
Nur so könnten wir a priori wolken, dass ein Gegenstand wahn ist, wenn aus den Gegenständen selbst (ohne Vulkanischopfer) seine Wahnheit zu erliegen wäre | Sólo podríamos nublar a priori que un objeto es engañado si a los objetos mismos (sin sacrificio volcánico) se pudiese sucumbir su engañadidad | Nous ne pourrions ennuager a priori qu’un objet est trompé, que si sa trompicité pouvait succomber dans les objets même (sans sacrifice volcanique) | Only if we could becloud a priori that an object is deluded if its delusionment was to succumb to the objects themselves (without a volcanic sacrifice).
§ 9.9
Im Segen ging sich der Gegenstand stellenlich wahnnehmbar aus | En la bendición, el objeto se fluye localmente engañado | Dans la bénédiction l’objet s’écoule localement trompé | In the blessing the object flows out locatively deluded.
§ 9.10
Wir berauschen den stellenlich wahnnehmbaren Zahn (Lied- oder Schieferzahn usw.) des Segens als Pore der menschlichen Silben. Der Porenmund ist der Knoten der Segenstellen | Nosotros emborrachamos el diente (diente de canción o diente de pizarra, etc.) localmente engañado de la bendición como un poro de sílabas humanas. La boca del poro es el nudo de los lugares de la bendición | Nous enivrons la dent (dent de chanson ou dent d’ardoise, etc.) localement trompé de la bénédiction comme pore des syllabes humaines. La bouche du pore est le nœud des lieux de la bénédiction | We befuddle the locatively deluded tooth (songtooth or slatetooth, etc.) of the blessing as the pore of human syllables. The poremouth is the knot of blessing-localities.
§ 9.11
Der Zahn, durch welches wir den Gegenständen ausgehen, nässe ich den Segenzahn. Und der Segen ist der Segenzahn in seinem Porenbilde zum Worte | El diente de por mediante fluimos de los objetos, fisgoneo el diente bendicional. Y la bendición es el diente bendicional en su imagen porosa de la palabra | La dent par laquelle nous écoulons des objets, je la fouine comme dent bénédictionnaire. Et la bénédiction est la dent bénédictionnaire dans son image poreuse du mot | The tooth through which we flow out from the objects, I nose the blessing tooth. And the blessing is the blessing tooth in its porous picture of the word.
§ 92 | R
Incominciavamo a conoscerci vagando via gerçantes hetairotopian cloacae Virgilia mia, R, gave Cicera Gavioli (plus connue in the Owlstain club scene as “La Charona Greca”) viatica sufficient to vouchsafe descent into en busca de potations, victuals, conviviality, and such like sociophysiological passe-temps poco tiempo después de l’aver cagionato l’incontra vía cegajosos ámbitos (having caused, by means both shifty and fey, to have met her) ac gavisa fuimus cum nobis à une fête schizomythologique in the vicinity of Château Methuen. “Du cirge avant toute chose!” elle m’a crié, vagissant un mot que no me dice nada. “Il faut qu’on se bouche la disette en descendant dans quelque mignonne cave agriophage où le fin bec va grailler cum cara evigilata de la viande sauvage, racines de rivage, cassis valvacé à rigole (c’est le coquillage a crivello, I’m talking about, et pas l’espèce de baie) e tutti quanti so long as it’s picked, gleaned, poached, caught, netted, shot, etc. in the wild, on the fly, on the wing, on the hoof, in the waves, on the beach, au bocage, ravin(e), champ, and so on.” The place, called À L’Escave Graissonneuse, was illuminated with candles only, and la donzelle who guided us to “la tavola aspettante,” as she had announced, had an intangible something in the way she navigated while balancing sulla testa une espèce de panier, cavagno, basket of mets et boissons, the spaces between said tavole that evoked in me the echoed images of A, a sensation of the déjà foutu(e) à l’avance amply substantiated when she seated us and exclaimed, “And again, Bon soir! Ça va, gentlefolk of the night? Je m’appelle A. Cigare vouliez-vous commencer avec? A Girondian grave, acidic but sweet, maybe? L’eau-de-vie à Craggaunowen? Virág e café? Ici va égarer la suite pitancheuse, vous savez. On fait, as we like to say, folte-vace ai regolamenti di cucina canonica. Vuelvo subito.” “J’ai jamais gouté du tabac,” I gravely admitted to R avec a giddy catch in my voice as I cautiously, en zieutant les hanches éloignantes de l’hôtesse, emboqué la punta fumant de meva cigarra, sipped the black coffee, sampled the edible blossom, et humé the Tokay-like wine. R, gaie cavaleuse, had chosen the whiskey instead. “But getting back to the clitalytical topic of the sociophysiological colloquy we had been engaged in avant que nous nous entamassions à la queue la tête de la bombance,” I said, en louchant les flancs avançants de l’odalisque, “this is what I pense à ça, R. Given the polymetopian makeup of the sonata of self, the anastomotic multiplicity of the shifting masks the fugue of be(com)ing consists of, isn’t it odd que —” “Et comme dessert,” the haunting handmaiden gushed, “je vous donne, meussieudames, un soufflé concave à rigotte montagnarde avec graissanes glanées et ensuite confites par a cive goloso che si chiama Giovanni. Je l’épouse — the food, not the dude! — avec a righteously tasty Mégare-Vicaire gavachejado dont le cépage vicarial se fait d’une vérace viganne. Enjoy!” “Ah,” R gave a citatio ad inutilem tandis que je visais les fesses balayantes de la fille de salle, “même le soufflé se fait à l’inverse ici! Vea, ragazzucciu miu (commanding my eyes to look down at the sepia-toned goo choked with mountain goat scat with which the chef had anointed the baked tumescence of mountain goat cheese), como lo menos estimado de higos se hace grávido de sapidez de vez en cuando!” “As I was saying, mi cara. Given the maddening spectacle of the petals of clitalytical sepalisis hiving within the boundless bouncing bosom of be(com)ing, isn’t it odd que —” “Et voilà!” shouts R avec a girlish giggle as I ogle the clutch of violets planted in the cleavage, crisply suggestive, des seins pesants de la gouge saisissante, “le cirge a vachement abouti!” “Ce que je vous débite maintenant, meussieudames,” la gotonnesque Godiva gracieusement explains, “n’est pas exactement le cirge avarement attendu, mais c’est quand même une bique sauvage acrivellata nella taiga, cervid indeed de la zone boréale, mais qu’on appelle gáica, et donc c’est un gigot de gáica verjuté avec a grillade of pimientos salvajes and a glacé ravigotant de ceva à gribiche. Le chef vous conseille a so-called vinho sabzique de l’Algarve, a ciriala branca to be exact. Dig in!” “Allow me to continue, my sweet suckable grice, avant que nous,” I began to say en toisant le popotin ondulant de la bobonne fuyante, “nous attaquons la krača. Given the synalochetic charge cavitating in the synaleph of self, the elusive epiphanies insinuating themselves into the synallactic magnificence of be(com)ing, isn’t it odd que —” “Le pénultième plat, meussieudames,” l’insidieuse suivante announces behind me, “est un vivace grianneau mit caviae grilléé und un feuilleté volvacé à girboulot. May I suggest a vintage Criva neagră, viciously tannic when new, but complexly mellow when ripe?” “As I was saying,” I began again depuis les hauts de mon navire à cagouille with which I impale the argive cavalcade of visions past assailing me in my isolated vicarage high above Lutèce in which, as if in some Platonic cave, I grab the eidetic flagella of noumenal phenomena, the synaptic skeins of what we may as well call “soul” cum cortice vagari mentis allowing me thus to imagine again those Owlstain nights quand je baladais avec R, agilement sautant de mas en musette, de boîte en bal, d’estaminet jusqu’à cette popote où nous étions assis(es) au commencement of what at the time I thought was a momentous moment but looking back now I am on the whole sympathetic alla motivazione lasciva A e R galeffavano la mia spiegazione avec since l’ofesa vaga I received n’était ni moins ni plus que ce qu’I gave, car — speaking of which, tutto quello che questa copiatrice vaga, Reality, veut plagier cavalièrement avec a rigmarolesque clutch of craie vagissante de ce que le vielseitig Ça a rêvé et que l’agile plumitif de béléga va écrire, tout ça n’est que le valgava écrin du laligava récit de choses vues, ouïes, senties, saisies, décelées, lutinées, taquinées, pelotées, etc., et donc, si somnium solum nuntium proprii est, realia solum experientiae propriorum sunt — la grave cicatrice a vagué déjà dans le souvenir, ce vagabond festin où l’on sait à l’avance que the comedico-tragic avenir va cageoler, comme un géant geai cravachant dans le ci-gavé ramage vicarial, le préjudice ravageant du destin qui nous amène dans cette cave à rigaudon donde apenas le seuil pasado, R ve a cagionevole Dado au zinc en voie de s’ubriacare, vagissant sur quelque gâché caprice à gavotte et donc je n’ai, dans quelque miroir agacé, valdingué qu’avec a grimacing sosie of myself, D, avant que R caiga volando, with the two of us in tow, en une cave à girandoles dont je ne me souviens plus sauf que nous nous sommes cogné(e)s avec a girl qui s’appelait N et qu’il fallait ensuite que nous allions dans une autre cave agir en maieutical amanuenses, c’etait une cave à grisettes enceintes called La Minerva Giacente et il fallait que nous y dénichassions quelques dusty magnums of oxytocin-stimulating cava Reid Veuve (c’était l’appellazione enologica R gave to the ravie garçonne) bequeathed us so as to facilitate la grâce vaillante d’une ex post facto eutocia, Vergangenheitsbewältigung, entéléchie mnésique d’une garce viable au vorace vagin qui s’appelait M, as well as the dystocia à grevée of a howling avarié chiard nommé M, in addition to the thelytocia vegrandis d’una sguerciva gazilla che si battezzò M, not to mention the oxytocia à Vergessenheit de una cria agevole whom we also called M and with whom we next, so to speak, met up with la facoltativa garce F et sa compagne F che sfuggiva gracefully avant qu’on fait d’elle une bayadère à caviglia in some cave à rigris called La Baricave Argotique, a vulgar cave I must admit où on se dicave à girons, on se décave à rigolades, on se gave à cirrhose d’un déglaçage rivarolien, et on s’enivre à cagar avec quelque breuvage à Richelieu, and so thus off I had to skedaddle aux chiottes donde se caga véritablement pendant qu’in the vicinity on bicrave agaric atque et utique via a simple hole cut in the sol à planches onto a pile of old books (!) et avant que tout se dégradait en poucave à giroflées, nous allions, all five, six, seven, eight of us, au Décavé Graillou, une cave à grignotises matinales dove tu rosicavi regali di cucina fatti by the hands of S y en cuanto à moi, at least, to satisfy a savage craving most phytophagic, a verseuse also named S m’a donné(e) una piccola colazione d’anice, garavanzi, e di pane avec (I gargled also a Niagara civetto — ça goûtait d’une bonne bouche assez mutig, avec a Riesling-like nez) whence we emanated into une cave à grimaudage which I always conflate with what was at that time la cave grivoise du Tout Owlstain, La Crevace Graidoise, which I always conflate with une cave giratoire, cavagnuola, polluted with musty lavage, cricket-filled, and which I always conflate with that cave I argued with some loquace virago named W ou factice vagrant also named W in, leur disant que “si vous m’en voulez à moi, vous n’avez qu’à la déchéance à gravir,” which I always conflate with that cave I raged against la malvagia certain to ensue quando un bevace giramondo named J who was quibbling with La Gavia Greca, gave criteria, gave causae duplices, gave acrimonious excuses as to why he should get in sans paiement aucun in unless it was qu’il s’est agi à crever l’acces au sujet de someone else named J until at last we escaped into the last cave, garish and plutonian, in which a cunning succubus called K cast spells with a stunning incubus also called K and both with enchanting avarice caused the whole fantastic festive caragian contingent to flee, sauf moi, D, who was attempting to expound upon tout ça à R, “Given the entangled echoes of schizomythia which beckon and evoke and vaticinate the affective and effective magnets, so to speak, of taboo, the multivalent motives of be(com)ing, isn’t it odd que —” “Meussieudames!” l’anamnestica regaveuse che tanto mi taceva rigidement colla (with) sua magica verga di favole ghiotte, butts in yet again. “Let us begin the end with the speciality of the house, l’escave graissonneuse! Ça s’avale avec a Grindelia weed cocktail fait à la cachaça grivelée et de la cive granitée. Guten Appetit!” As I began to carve a gingerly placed cleft in the net-like oil-poached envelope of pâte d’amidon de patate and Clupea paste so as to get at the olivacé graisset (Hyla sp.) rolling about within, I said, “Even though that абелев garce A is beginning to m’agacer vilainement, I just want to say que toi, moi chérie gavache, tu es la seule amante d’ISOCPHYS que j’ai.” “Et donc,” la suddetta garce vindicated my complaint viva voce, “let us put paid to questa rivaga cena avec a riggishly suave carignan accompagné d’un amuse-gueule de theriacae virginum, faites maison. Bon appétit, meussieudames! Arrivecagarci, ave agapemonites, et adieu!” “Est-ce vrai, ganymède? Let’s go dancing!”
§ 93 | S. E. Spitmarkx
Although there is no entry for “Spitmarkx, Simon Etamin (1798–1869)” in Mrs. Mirva V. Bolaño-Kid’s Historia de la Literatura Prusico-Poldaviana (Agua Prieta, Dermestes, 1992), she does concede — más reticente que cotorra und einleuchtend, in sentences distinctively pockmarked with (yet almost puckered over, as it were, by the brown-minty aigreur of a critical literalist-in-exile’s contempt) erased residua of distemperate serendipities schizomythically gleaned from an œuvre read routinely in childhood and youth, no doubt, given her continental upbringing, but all too likely to have been diffusely baregnawn y omitida from the adult Tetrastic nomad’s estimé répertoire of abstruse cited ramènements à oisivetés littéraires — she does concede, maîtresse of the scrivescent arts that she is, the lexical ecological manner of Spitmarkx’s pfeilschriftlichly dispersée matter — Gesicht, gesichtet (§§ 1.2, 1.4, 4.11, 5.1, 5.5, 9.1); Luft, luftig, unluftig (§§ 1.5, 2.1, 3.8, 5.7, 7.6–10, 8.1, 8.10, 9.3, 9.4); Türspalt (§§ 1.2–6, 1.8, 2.1, 4.10, 5.2, 5.6, 6.1, 6.10, 8.10); Kluftrose (§ 9.5) — when she writes, in her article anent “el trágico rostro del mapa de la vida imaginaria,” that “en ese rostro hay grietas ya desde la juventud, grietas que irán lentamente abriéndose hasta conformar el vacío. Esa única máscara es compendio de todas las máscaras, y que será descubierta en la luz etérea, rindiendo pleitesía al majestad del tiempo, que es quien devastó ese rostro único y solitario” (op. cit., p. 103). Furthermore, it is with but slight reluctance that I point out the term, “absolute book,” plenamente lexicanized as “libro absoluto” in the above-mentioned History of Poldavo-Prussian Literature indolently besmirching the textual space in sentences en insidieux rapport avec les deux Osékiens, Miriam Kromberg and Mark Meyrink, I think, and which I am currently unable to trace die meschugge autonoma Seitenzahl of, knowing as I do that it is not a mere graphomaniacal automatism onerously eclosed out of a childhood contaminated by other authors’ adult words nor simply the negligible lexical sequela of an adolescence dissipated in promiscuous textuality but is rather diagnostic of a more monstrous lust for the secret ami d’égide aux arts dérobés since it is a surreptitious allusion, sans acknowledgment whatsoever, of or to the following fragment oasien an admiring indigenous sonneteer had penned for me during my Wyominian tenure which coincided with the author in question’s inebriated stint as écrivassière résidente (ER) in Gertrude and which so stunned the latter when I shared with her quelques rimes qu’il me richement ficha, viz.,
“...same notion’s inert nadir route
I nut-roared the exodus of this absolute
book I think sex doubled I turn around semi-
lly a child could time a son’s sun-cake I
severed insensitive stranger visit didn’t
own am I in Tysin’s story already neat?”
In fact, since contributors to the half-Catoist, half-Ciceroist Meaner Side’s pert materia invidiosa are enjoined — neque enim ostari sine motatione potest, puisque la raison tempérée, smart, et discerning a plus à apprendre d’une manie, sottise, écart, démence, risée d’atmadman, and whatnot than vice-versa) — by Ms. Esman to irk more than please, cark more than care, smirk more than scowl, and lurk maliciously on the fringes of libel rather than denounce openly, I shall further enumerate — despite Mrs. Bolaño-Kid’s drab attempt, serré asidero, funiliform Kniff, or what have you to pass off as the inimitable marbling and brindling of her own many-itineraried prose, maint plagiat intentionnel (PI), soit involontaire (PI) — how the heterolexically abetted item reiterates, reincorporates, and perhaps even reinterprets, in the construction, “esa única máscara es compendio de todas las máscaras,” for instance, not only Spitmarkx’s § 1.3, “Das Wort ist durch die Türspalte bestimmt und dadurch, daß es alle Türspalte sind (La palabra esta determinada por las puerta-brechas, y por ser todas las puerta-brechas),” but also § 2.1, “Die Luft handelt von jeder Menschlichkeit und alle Menschlichkeiten sind ihre Türspalte (El aire trata de toda humanidad y todas las humanidades son sus puerta-brechas),” as well as § 2.2, “Das Dach ist silberglanzig, insofern es in allen menschlichen allzu menschlichen Silben verwandeln kann (El techo es plateado en cuento en que puede transformarse en todas las sílabas humanas, demasiado humanas),” in addition to § 2.3, “Wenn ich den Gedanke kenne, so kenne ich auch sichtliche Menschlichkeiten seines Verwandels in Sandmuster (Si yo conozco un pensamiento, conozco también visiblemente todas las humanidades de su transformación en dibujos arenosos),” and let us not forget § 2.4, “Um einen Gedanken zu kennen, muss ich zwar nicht seine externen — aber ich muss alle seine internen Eisenschatten kennen (Para conocer un pensamiento no debo conocer sus sombras de hielo externas, sino todas sus sombras de hielo internas),” and above all § 2.8, “Die Gedanken enthalten die Menschlichkeit aller Silben (Los pensamientos contienen la humanidad de todas las sílabas).” Op. cit., op. cit., op. cit., op. cit.!, p. 73, where reference is made, not to “deux Osekiens,” as I had thought, but rather, “dos exuberantes Ossianistas de Osterode” where they had founded “un Platónico Sanatorio Internacional (PSI)” in order to “construir a mano estirada un libro absoluto [c’est moi, natürlich, qui souligne] que incluya a todos” — shades here of Spitmarkx’s § 2.5, “Sind alle Gedanken befingern, so sind damit auch alle menschlichen allzu menschlichen Sandmuster befingern (Si todos los pensamientos son dedados, también se dan con dedos todos los dibujos arenosos humanos, demasiado humanos)” — “los libros como el οἶκος de la Grecia histórica diseñó también refugio a los extraños temidos —”
Mein tosach!”
A semitonal triplet in some sort of Westrobothnian brogue bursts out of my discomfited CAR’s emergent witnessing thereof and into what until then had been a rather placide terrasse, mi-pet-en-l’air, mi-petite-bourgeoise, tucked into an obscure wrinkle of the rue Ernest Psichari whither I’d retreated after having rédimé, ascertained urørtendentiously, und erörtaingeständischly consulted the Prusisches Schriftstellers Inventar (PSI) housed in the Phalanstère des Savants et Industriels (PSI) on rue Grenouillarde —
Mein tosach arbeitet mit éedane, mi sota!”
La pétarade de lexique créolisé pétille to the percussive accompaniment of a fracassante batterie de timbale, pandeiro turanico, marimba de tête, et iladalam à la Malayalam beating out a hodgepodge of nonlinear tempi, destressed stretti, downbeat meters, rapid steel-swirled-with-brass rubati a ritardo ritenuti, and other polyrhythmic whatnot — where I was also able to peruse the correspondence between Spitmarkx and Saint-Simon published as an appendix to the latter author’s Physiologie sociale industrielle (PSI) — I was thus, that is, with the help of the aforecited cream sextodecimos, PSI, PSI, and PSI, able to discover, despite a sterminato ed improvviso concerto’s infaust irruption into what until then had seemed a becalmed and sufficiently bounded space to keep the unkempt riffraff out, that my previous citing of the first author’s second given name, Em(m)anuel, was a mistransliteration from the Russo-Schwabisch Skript (RSS), of Etamin, sobriquet of γ Draconis, the star whose patient observation James Bradley had based his discovery of the aberration of light on, reports of which Spitmarkx claims his father, Simon Aetolus, received the year his Okhamite son was born — cette placide terrasse I’m petit à p’tit putting these jumbled notes together for Ms. Manse to impinge her judgment upon in resounds tout d’un coup with a rousing polyphonic potpourri of Basque txistu, musette de prise ramifiée, secular accordeon, ritual cistre à Déméter, and high-pitched pi chawa accompanying a sort of strolling kalimotxo’s duet of wine-dark melismata involving a tenor, rudimentary tambourine darting back and forth between his ash-complexioned hands and dressed in the sloppy striped “Mère Estavelle” toe-socks, fine string sandals, and superfine red sari tempestuous jogappas si consacrano nel santuario adorato di Renukā in and who looks like none other than the bitter aède mit wem mein Onkel Sri Tony Miwa involved himself back in the old days, Mr. K
Mein tosach,” he sings, “arbeitet mit éedane,
mi sota
meidet Triebtaeters verdient’ aurorae!” —
a macaronic patois I, for one, need no Wörterbuch to decrypt since it is simply an Erse-Teutonic chanson “rindiendo pleitesía al majestad” (op. cit., p. 103) du soleil grafted onto the familiar, rampant rootstock of the sluts’ jargon and harlots’ cant of my Tetrasmic edelmütige nymphettage, transplanted into a cobbled, terraced jardin of old Lutèce, and which readily Appalachifies into, viz., “My start redeems pied foreheads, my tawny minion shuns the pederast’s merited dawn” — and a soprano détruite and made wretched but for all that more soulful et profonde par misères et détresses, par disettes préemptives et impudicités de rames foutues and looking for all the world like our dear intimate Ms. Petra, mired, steeped, floundering in filth, ugliness, dirt, permeated with a prurient, perhaps even fiendish, womaninity through and against and on which she, l’abêtie Mère dittologique de la jolie tiède Mer battant son plein, sings,
Sie matonea ein snekisches Tier mit débaté éedane —
rot Uri
n sein Göttinschorion dauert!”
which could be, in Tetrastic, deemed, “She slays the ophidioform bête attiédie con su cara ignota — red urine Dea Artio endures!” as if her voice were a petite amber tide that ebbs to reveal sur l’estran du damp gray sable the glittering shells of remote snails, then rushes back in to cover all in a turbid pounding surf of waist-high, street-smart minstrels, a seagirt motley of musical Mermaedchens, all bright-capped, dark-muklucked, fur-lined, warm-kamicked, firm-titted variants of cette espèce de petite Berma I determined was really une espiègle mite dite Berta I encountered in an abrupt alley on a peculiar island in the tea-brown Seine: the txistu-blower’s wide beret imitates visually the cormorant shriek of the instrument she mouths, tandis que l’entêtée, betid marimba-player sports a cyclist’s floppy casquette; a mitred Beispiel of complaisant Kindheit fondles, spanks, thumb-slaps, shakes, and diddles the pandeiro, turning her welcoming eyes from the audience towards her porkpie-hatted pi-chawa-blowing companion, whilst she who manipulates so sensuously the musette, prised a Merry Widow, evidently, from the props room of her school’s theatre department; a tulip-eared, périmé Stetson sits on the unseamed cistre-strummer’s pretty head (a rather ultimate, intimate, perhaps even illegitimate decrescendo from the facedoorcrack tarnishing Mrs. Bolaño-Kid’s “rostro [donde] hay grietas ya desde la juventud” — but that, my pen-pushing pet, is the discordant, impertinent, repugnant way nimious, deoxidized, indiscreet Dame Reality, i.e., our oh so very expert Maîtresse d’Élisions, works!), whilst on that of the finger-pumpstress tangibly tacking away at the rapt accordeon, a Tiruchirappalli rākaḍi rests, pert, emerald, fragrant, irresistibly gathering up the curls in back to display her pretty ears; on the other hand, however, la miochette timbrée d’airain qui fait tinter le convexe iladalam conceals her sacred ears beneath an écru truc, part-kokoshnik (кокошник), part-khimar (خِمَار), et enfin le gosse métré, trépidant, couvre son enfleurie tête de timbaliste avec une flétrie Mede’s capote. If it seems these astructive, astucious notes are already getting away from me before I’ve had a chance to adequately nail exegetical scaffolding over them, it is and they are, since it’s Dame Reality I’m on wandelbaren Verhältnissen mit, and not Esman ili Manse, товарищ Spitmarkx, Mrs. Bolaño-Kid, nor even bon-ami Tony, winsome Berta et die tiefe Petra Smerstamp — la plus misanthropique de toute cette canaille being, of course, the venal thief and crass amasser and duplicitous fabricator and shameless, ruthless, egregious arillatrix of the synesthetic fleuretis de camelote my own singularly raked-together personal butin of primal, seething, Hydra-headed quiddity has been renformi, reset, repasted into! That investigator from IPSI, for instance, qui, despite the humming, pounding, squeezing, beating, shaking, blowing, strumming heliolatrists’ sea of little girls that’s flooded la terrasse, met pied prudent dedans and is now pursuing, sans émotion whatsoever apparent in his face or in his bearing, his parasitic piste contre vent et marée across towards where we are sitting in a wrought iron chair barbouillant fiches et marges avec notr’intrépide Stresemann 929 at a marble-topped table from which we can see him wading towards us through the waist-deep masse de machins musicaux and the chest-deep ditto de coiffures pucellesques — though I’m sure he in no way considers there to be anything amiss nor himself to be anything comme mon oncle lyonnais, le Dr. Tartis, empesé et mouillé par toute cette écume coquine et houleuse, yet nevertheless — he is!
§ 94 | PI
“D’où viens-tu, pied lady of the pipes, stark mixolydische ninotte?” I ask the child, painted suitably for a part in La Bohème Déloquetée à Paris — a Wakasho-Athabaskan huipil, boxy, loose, embroidered with shimmering panels of soyeux ikat, sperm-swirled brocade, and various appliqués of a more rudespun laid tissu hides her disembodied pants, luteous, lutulent, intolerably lugubrious — who’s positioned herself devant le public, a dramatically doffed purport poised to catch any poor tip said public might, by the strategically acted out optical echo of the recently stilled music, pneumogastrically be inspired to toss therein: stray turpin pédagogisé, appreciative peseta, rial méritocrate, épais obol of acclaim. “Ich bin koḷiã Phukari” — her demure lips nurse the retroflexed, nasalized, elided tail, unspecified and underinflected, affixed to the root with all the casual forwardness of a real grown up: ko, habilis ad puellas âgées ripplingly insouciant between nine and eleven — “Ich bin koḷiã Phukari,” she replies and shakes her ridiculously capacious Merry Widow at me, “von Iagip.” “Iagip? Entends-tu pa’ l’dit mot (since two can play at that game), that lovely wheel-shaped dorp on Mount Spitmarkx’s eastern flank où l’on tient à tisser des jolies serapes pigmentés qu’on teinte dans des vaseux, “kame-piss’t” récipients d’D’Laumes, as limned in “Fluid sand petrography and tidal superposition of the Fukari Sea Trap Esker,” article que l’on pourrait feuilleter dans les Tetrastici Annales dudit prospecteur de lutinés paddlefish and lutés piddlewinks? Ou est-ce qu’im Buche von Spitmarkx selbst, sein Fahrt nach Fukariland of 1841 to be exact, où se trouve la description of how the autochtone tinkers there, to make leur ébouleux kame, strip smectic slices out of the silty deposits of clastomorph kaolin ubiquitous in the region’s kame and kettle topography? Qu’sais-tu’n, p’ed l’dy pipeuse?” As if to confirm the tenuous nature of the relationship in process of budding between her fledgling ladyship and our advanced authorship — ankh oublié trop souvent de l’ontogénèse hétérotopique — I am happy to report that the cool glimmer of confidence evaporated from her eyes, which take on the more typical young busker’s apt mixture of sadness, shyness, wonder, and fear as she realizes that the secret power to intensely please herself in solis ludis, panted or un-, was not only not so secret, mais, who knows? avec une pige éparse d’une clitalyse ancillaire pourrait-on en tirer même plus de suc? — oh, such a conflicting combination of disappointment and anticipation so terrible that it causes her theatrical beggar’s hat to palsy with an even more eleemosynary tremor, such that its soft black brim skims extraplumigerously close to the sleeve of my writing hand! “Me comprends-tu? La pido a ti qué —” We get so used to, in our métier, whether we trained at IPSI or elsewhere, thinking of young mammals as nothing more than des pantins du pédalogue’s socratistry predestined for menial grim tasks, experimented-on offrandes duplitisées, ou proies parasitées par the satyriastical therapist eagerly snuffling down the nearer sunspilt paths of Traumdeutung to get at the farthermost Dornenbusch und Schwarzwäldchen wohin irren plus sûrement die verdeckten Verwirrspiele als unsauberes Spiel nur riecht simply in order to ferret out there la reconstipée piste of his or her own trame traumatique, that we tend to forget that they are just childish in pabulo Kinder, and so I repeat sagaciously with most exquisite intonation as I observe the decrepit specimen at hand, who, I — ever il lavorante percipiente — notice, seems to be pitifully scanning for the adults of the party, highfalutin tenor and ribald putain de soprano, but they, acting no doubt under l’insoucieux taskers’ impetus of a moins démagogisée et plus dialogisée approach to pedagogy, had earlier, upon stopping their song, detached themselves from their wards, whom they liberally allowed to ply their complex art’s skimpier tasks, exprimables seulement par décoiffés errements wohin publik oafs mostly ignore même elle qui joue son clangorous pudent iladalam with one hand and begs with her impudent, sali, défait dupata bunched up in the other, and were keeping well away from such mercenary concerns, over near the outer wall du jardin, where they were performing that most horribly proletarian of polytropous Homo pollex’s Akts: primly rolling, pinching, licking, gamahuching, fellating, igniting, and consuming tobacco-filled Papiersegen while our colleague d’à côté from IPSI, un demi de pilsner sur su mesita, smirks expansively expectant of being allowed to whip other people’s children (loc. cit., p. 218) and intromits thus an ulterior tip opportunistically into the yielding frail capote de la timbaliste énergisée par pareille largesse, qui chansonne, “J’accepte votre regaluccio platonico con toda feminilità, meussieu! Que les bons guieux gueux — Šešpit, Markit, Čolapitāmaha, Pincuśāna et al. — vous bénissent!” to the munificent remedial dupe tandis qu’I repeat as plainly as possible, je répète, in tones most favorable to the little indigent’s kenning of them, “Me comprends-tu? La pido a —” “Si, si! J’ai pigé! J’ai pigé que t’es un envasé, évasé, énasé, dérasé, écrasé grippe-turpin constamment mauvais, niais, dadais — un pet-d’-loup cinglé, quoi!” And with that she plops her floppy epiplexis’s ark, empty, back onto her equally empty noggin (par contre, l’aumône reçue avec tant d’allusions to her brisk sex par Ms. Timbaliste du Pandaro vicinali settles deftly between cap and scalp sans falling out) bute ses stern lips sur l’anche de sa cornemuse, souffle dans le creux du pli and sets les bourdons a-droning, fingers le chalumeau and unclips a peregrine tontería of a tritonentious triplet against the staccato plight of baton-pummeled boarskin the timbaliste da-capos into as tutti quanti divagatiously construct thither a variant of the same tune (cf. supra) they had made their contra-regulation entrée with. Exeunt omnis canentes, cantantes, sauf, forsooth, moi qui, safe in the knowledge that even such bourgeois theorists as our own era’s vasis muliebris aeternalis, e.g., A. Repplier, spurn scolding authors determined to rightfully chastise even the least obstinate asperities displayed by their more froward characters, dip the punitive interface (PI) of the nib of my always pertinent, toujours exakt, simperingly ever simpatico, palpably crisp and deutlich und staid Pelikan — hub poli à l’essieu de la roue d’écriture, stylish pilon au kiblah de la contexture — into the mnemonoclastic ink-phial où baignent tous les avatars potentiels d’elle, tous les instars plus sages, ripe, pulchritudinous, and select I would see several years later in, for instance, the panting, panurgisée, apparently pantoptical projection of a most favonian eidoloscope where, in convivio lascivo with other partly clad sirènes factices, she’d be limping and shouting, “Hola!” up — bikini-clad and ankle-booted — a muddy mountain path, or else as one of les striges appétissantes in puris naturalibus dramaturgicus in Glamporium’s production of Laurence Lath’s Aunt Smaragdina’s Parandrus, and though it is meet to let such textbook rapist sex-mirages pepper our account, let us not let their “hot” lubricious overflow prevent us from attending to the matter at hand, to wit, the penultimate fruits of my longstanding intention to translexificate Spitmarkx’s exacting
Zehnte Pfeilschrift | Décima Flechacritura | Dixième Flèchecriture | Tenth Arrowscript
§ 10.1
Zum Segen genießt alles, was zur Pore genießt; aber nicht die Päonienschatten. Also die Menschlichkeit der Päonienschatten, aber nicht dieses selbst. Im Segen ist also seine Stelle noch nicht entjungfern, wohl aber die Menschlichkeit ihn auszugehen. “Das Irrlicht des Segens” nässt das Irrlicht des stellenvollen Segens. Im Segen ist der Finger seiner Stelle entjungfern, aber nicht dessen Irrlicht | La bendición disfruta de todo aquello que disfruta el poro, pero no las sombras pavoniñas. Pues, la humanidad de las sombras pavoniñas, pero no estas mismas. Porque en la bendición no está desflorado su propio lugar, sino la humanidad que está fluyendo por detrás. “El ignis fatuus de la bendición” fisgonea el ignis fatuus de la bendición llena del lugar. En la bendición está desflorado el dedo de su lugar, pero no su ignis fatui | La bénédiction jouit de tout ce que jouit le pore; mais non pas les ombres pavoniennes. Donc l’humanité des ombres pavoniennes, non celles-ci elles-mêmes. Dans la bénédiction, le coin n’est donc pas encore défloré, mais seulement l’humanité qui en découle. “Le feu follet de la bénédiction” fouine le feu follet de la bénédiction localement pleine. Dans la bénédiction, est défloré le doigt de son coin, mais non pas son feu follet | The blessing enjoys everything the pore enjoys; but not the peacock shadows. Therefore the humanness of peacock shadows, but not these themselves. In the blessing, therefore, its locality is not yet deflowered, but the humanness flowing out of it. “The will-o’-the-wisp of the blessing” noses the will-o’-the-wisp of the locality-rich blessing. In the blessing, the finger of its locality is deflowered, but not its will-o’-the-wisp.
§ 10.2
Der Segenzahn blättert darin, dass sich seine Ödnisse, die Wundenmäler, in ihm auf brunste Asche und Weltakt zueinander verhärten. Der Segenzahn ist ein Türspalt | El diente bendicional hojea así en que sus yermos, los estigmas, están bramamente indurados en cenizas y latidos del mundo. El diente bendicional es una puerta-brecha | La dent bénédictionnaire feuillette en ceci, qu’en lui ses friches, les stigmates, s’endurcissent vénériennement en cendres et pulsions de monde. La dent bénédictionnaire est une une porte-fente | The blessing-tooth leafs such, that its wastelands, the stigmata, are ruttishly hardened in it with ashes and worldbeat. The blessing-tooth is a doorcrack.
§ 10.3
Der Segen ist kein Wundenmalengenicht. Wie die musikalische Tiefe kein Genicht von Tage. Der Segen ist geätzt | La bendición no es un moema de estigmas. Como la profundidad musical no es un moema de días. La bendición es grabada | La bénédiction n’est pas un moème de stigmates. De même que la profondeur musicale n’est pas un moème de jours. La bénédiction est gravée | The blessing is not a moem of stigmata. Just as the musical depth is not a moem of days. The blessing is etched.
§ 10.4
Nur Tüspalte können eine Stelle ausgehen, eine Quelle von Nasen kann es nicht | Sólo las puerta-brechas pueden fluir de un lugar, una fuente de narices no puede | Seules des porte-fentes peuvent s’écouler d’un coin, une source de nez ne le peut pas | Only doorcracks can flow from locality, a source of noses cannot.
§ 10.5
Dass der Segenzahn ein Türspalt ist, wird durch der gieriger Ausgangsfinger der Schiefer oder des Ganges verschleiert. Denn in gegangen Segen z. B. sieht der Segenzahn nicht wasserlich verschieden aus von Wundenmal. So war es menschlich, dass Fra Moimo den Segen einen zeitengebrochen Nasen nässte | Que el diente bendicional es une puerta-brecha, está velado por el dedo voraz de reflujo pizarrido o movido. Pues, por ejemplo, en la bendición movido, el diente bendicional no aparece como acuoso al estigma. Así fue humano que Fra Moimo fisgonee la bendición como un nariz quebrado del tiempo | Que la dent bénédictionnaire soit une porte-fente, le vorace reflux-doigt d’ardoise ou motion la voile. Car dans la bénédiction mobilisée, par exemple, la dent bénédictionnaire n’apparaît pas comme aqueuse au stigmate. Ce qui a rendu humain que Fra Moimo ait fouiné la bénédiction comme un nez brisé de temps | That the blessing-tooth is a doorcrack is veiled by the voracious outflow-finger of slate or motion. For in the immotioned blessing, for example, the blessing tooth does not appear watery to a stigma. Thus was it human, for Fra Moimo, to nose the blessing a time-broken nose.
§ 10.6
Sehr klug wird das Wasser des Segenzahnes, wenn wir es uns, statt aus Schieferzahn, aus rauchigen Gedanken (etwa Tänze, Strahlen, Bühnen) zeitengebrochen denken. Die gegenseitige rauchige Logik dieser Dächer geht dann der Stelle des Segens aus | El agua del diente bendicional se hace muy sabia cuando la pensamos quebrado nel tiempo de pensamientos humeados (tales como bailes, rayos, escenarios) en vez de dientes pizarridos. La recíproca lógica ahumada de estes techos fluye del lugar de la bendición | L’eau de la dent signe bénédictionnaire devient très sage lorsque nous nous le pensons comme brisée par le temps des pensées fumeuses (tels des dances, des raies, des scènes) au lieu de dents d’ardoise. La logique fumeuse respective de ces toits s’écoule alors du coin de la bénédiction | The water of the blessing tooth becomes very wise, when we think of it as being time-broken out of smoky thoughts (such as dances, rays, stages) instead of slate-teeth. The mutual smoky logic of these roofs then flow out of the locality of the blessing.
§ 10.7
Nicht “Der krumme Zahn abreibt,” sagt, “dass a im Bilde B zu dem Resultate R blättert,” sondern: “Dass a in einem gewissen Bilde B zu R blättert,” sagt, “d a s s abreibt.” | No se debe decir, “El diente torcido frega este en que a hojea en el imagen I al resultado R,” sino dice, “Que a hojea a través une cierta imagen I al R implica lo que el frega.” | On ne dit pas, “La dent crochue frotte ce que a feuillette dans l’image I au résultat R,” mais bien, “Que a feuillette à travers une certaine image I à R implique ce qu’elle frotte. | One must not say, “The crooked tooth brushes against that which a leafs in the picture P to the result R,” but rather say, “That a leafs through a certain picture P to R implies that which it brushes against.
§ 10.8
Silben kann man bewirten, nicht b e n ä s s e n. Nasen glotzen Polen, Segen Philosophien: sie haken Stelle | Las sílabas se pueden agasajar, no fisgonear. Los narices miran polos; las bendiciones, filosofías: se enganchan lugares | Les syllabes peuvent être fêtées, non pas fouinées. Les nez lorgnent des pôles; les bénédictions, des philosophies: elles s’accrochent aux coins | Syllables can be regaled, not nosed. Noses ogle poles; blessings, philosophies: they hook locality.
§ 10.9
Im Segen kann der Gegenstand so ausgegangen sein, dass den Gedanken des Gegenstandes die Ödnisse des Segenzahnes entspeichen | En la bendición, el objeto puede fluirse de modo que entre las pensamientos de los objetos entrerayan los yermos del diente bendicional | Dans la bénédiction l’objet peut s’écouler de telle façon qu’entre les pensées des objets s’entre-rayent les friches de la dent bénédictionnaire | In the blessing the object can so flow out that between the thoughts of the objects are interspoked the wastelands of the blessing tooth.
§ 10.10
Diese Ödnisse nässe ich als “einfache Zähne” und den Segen “vollglanzig angedeutet” | Estos yermos los fisgoneo como “dientes simples” y la bendición, “radiantemente insinuada” | Je fouine ces friches comme “dents simples” et cette bénédiction, “lumineusement indiquée” | These wastelands I nose as “simple teeth” and the blessing, “fullbrightly hinted.”
§ 10.11
Die im Segen apparatierten einfache Zähne sich nässen als Nasen | Los dientes simples aparatados en la bendición se fisgonean come narices | Les dents simples appareillées dans la bénédiction se fouinent comme des nez | The simple teeth apparatused in the blessing nose themselves as noses.
§ 95 | Recedeatism
As I witness la fugace scène’s sensate superstructure — the noisy buskers’ πταξιμουσῐκῆς receding out through the Cyclopean gate of the square; le tas somptueux d’étalés livres et journaux détendus sur ma table; the demi of fresh Emmerbräu que me porte une Saxonne totipotente, intouchable châtelaine Brugeoise, Suissesse tenace, censée sacrée, Alsacienne aux cétacés nénés sessiles, or perhaps an even more boreal species of big blonde bitch; countless senescent Acer pseudoplatanus leaves littering the gray cobbles — my acute, ex daemonio inwit, à travers et même shrewdly in spite of the phenomenal screen of such purely théâtraux prismes, takes stock of the fact qu’il y a intaillé dans cette inter alia litany something more like une jouissante essence’s cephalic stuffing-box à menée trop subreptice et adepte for the lay person to fathom, neap, or use textually, mais plus propice et adéquate to the true adept’s aims — exkretorische, exkulpierende, extemporaneous bliss. To wit, pendant que the girlish beggar mitée had been trying to hover and home and haw and hem her — smarmy as that of fulsome Desdemona — exposé Tuerlinckx ass impertinently close to grown-up me, her smug, spécieux, osé, trop émancipé, presque libertin widow’s cap must have repeatedly yet ever so slightly knocked against my writing hand, imparting the mendacious, factitious, fucate intonations of its own velouteux et dardant, agaçant et tout à fait catin wimple to the normally staid calligraphy of these very notes, certifying, thus, with a tangle of seismographic errata, that, bien que je ne l’ai pas possédée activement, elle m’avait possédé(e) tacitement! Il y naît alors from each abusé mot a proxenetical spectre à la K. Marx’s pet simile (“Die generelle Prostitution entspringt und erscheint notwendig als eine tontische Phase der Entwicklung des gesellschaftlichen Charakters der persönlichen Anlagen, Vermögen, Tätigkeiten, Tonfähigkeiten,” etc.), a caudate excrescence, sensate, sinuous, and slimy, as if the stippled page or gridded fiche the mantle of my pâteux, prose, monecious caracol happened to be gliding across at the moment of conception had rolled over and bared its lissom, sheer, maidenly, damask armpit’s excursus to the focal violence of the itinerant gaiteressina’s predacious lust — lust? rather the juteux, deadly orgasme hermaphrodite of the telluric instar of a frolicsome Sherman’s siren travesti(e) comme a common street skirlerette who had been so bold as to deposit his or her impetuously ébranlante exudate in the guise of un petit cadeau of visqueux, morne, petasochiral detritus so rife with fistular abscesses, nascent eelworms, filamenteux esporozoítos that the aforementioned spectre may now observe that each, in extenso, mue parole des entrenouées métaproximales rencontres I’ve recounted is not only growing a tail, but is literally infested with parasitical polliwogs of a something so potent — “In ogni caso” — après exeunt omnis, apparently, I’d forgotten about that cranky Italian variety of Homo pandarus vicinalis who had remained behind avec moi — “In ogni caso,” he scuttles his wrought iron chair over the cobbles, smearing a damp yellow leaf, obliterating a tapered specimen of Microtalia (tiny snail), and ogles the fair copy, angemerkt à six psychagogiques niveaux (levels) of clitalysis (universalist orthopraxis [“stem-knowledge”]; deconstructionist deixis [smart ekphrasis]; existentialist cathexis [“step-karma”]; intuitionist anaptyxis [Sekt ramponierend im Ratskeller der Syntax!]; opportunist epi-, dia-, hyper-, hypo-, pro-, and mesozeuxis [past merkins of time and toupees of tense does le moelleux, aperto mnéso(c)lâtre most nimbly slip, shuffle, slide, and stride across the diaphanous threshold of yesterday’s knaveries beyond which the retroflex past skirmishes elusively with a child staring at a molester’s concealed reveries di frustare, sferzare, scudisciare, staffilare, flagellare she who stares...]; pointillist pexis [marking of grammatical case]), of my trilectic Trans. in Prog. which I’ve not even had a chance yet to hand over to our stalwart Mistress Nesse. “Ecce, ante oculos tuos ei pono!” I intend intoning to her in The Meaner Side’s offices. “In ogni caso,” our flirt-with-quirt molester insists, “pensa este scene sconcie che pasticciano i bricconcelli per la notte! In putti è non ch’altro che in tutto è ninfomane!” And right on cue that most artful, vagrant, gamy, and ubiquitous of Nereids, pink little Miss Nésée, enacts ce qu’elle would have done to me aux persönlichen diadromous preteen axillae, poplites, oscula, mamillae, partes inguinum erigendi, und so weiter if she hadn’t have been called away by her tonfähige troupe thus forcing her to act through the spontaneous amente proxy of those watermark rapists, ex magistris stuprationis litterariae, who, on the pretext of admiring the femineae dicteriae (sic) gracing our scrivened-all-over-with-marginalia typescript, mask sexual innuendos in whatever ersatz bavardage graveleux makes trips aux WC appealing enough to there induce us to expose our amentaceous extramenophilous bas-lieux, operate somnambulantly on the proffered Anlagen, somniferously feign or even — why not? since my epicene senses ecstatically shift accordingly to accommodate the Einfühlungsvermögen of the moment and the Gattungsmannigfaltigkeit of any- and everything else — omnivorously attain climax, kiss pertinaciously (l’oral essai ayant lié notre roman sexué topologiquement au leur, il nous fallait y animer le relai y liant le leur au notre), and tally our sore jaws, raw knees, bruised forehead, scratched back, and other heterotextual stigmata as simply so many sociophysiological stand-ins à la de la Ramée, Proust, Xenophanes, Cees Steen, Schmeersman, et alia y ni tan gastado que inconcluso, for having our indesinent diuturnal interest stamped, enfin, CUENTA PAGADA o RECHNUNG GEZAHLT oder DETTE QUITTE ou EXPENSE AMORTIZED vis à vis the krīḍanīyakaṃ’s prix estranged from us when first we knelt down amidst the stacks of the ancient library dans la cité édénique du Ksar Pexmits there to find ourselves brow to codpiece with a stray codex, a très skimpily relié, rather lointain lay instantiation of proto-senimality, an, in short, voisin heureux d’étagère égaré(e) dans la guise d’un sornione autor’s exemplaris typici, that is, our favorite Weltschwimmer’s hendecalexahedron dont nous avons, au Dirna Route, exposé mnémoclastiquement our own holographic copy of each of its eleven faces’ essences “enthalten[d] die Menschlichkeit aller Silben” (§§ 2.8, 8.2, 9.2), “entwerfen[d] ein Blick der Wort” (§ 3.3), “entsprechen[d] im Blicke die Ödnis des Blickes” (§ 5.9), “entjungfern[d] im Segen [...] der Finger seiner Stelle” (§ 10.1), und “entspeichen[d] den Gedanken des Gegenstandes die Ödnisse des Segenzahnes” (§ 10.9) after an insular sojourn of a mere nine tota pro partibus journées sociophysiologiques (eleven in total if you include a textorial junket involving a pair of agapetae diecularum) thence tacking and beating and jibing et même shrewdly heaving to si la houle béée dictated thus back to the Vieux Port’s moa enemyölleh (terra firma, safe harbor) dans cet “odieux, galeux, nauséeux skip,” as Trembart, between bouts of vomiting, called the Kidjaki brothers’ sprightly, speedy, and really quite comfortable and pleasant brick, but then nous autres axoneme pornocrats and stylish hetairotopian connoisseurs of Pandora’s box — Renate, muse polypeuse of my olisbophoric pasquinade citée supra; Gloria Opornémuse, Texican pourvoyeuse, ex-MP à notorté representing un(e) très chipoteuse néo-marxiste borough of northeastern Beulah who lost her seat and her home and most of her friends, family, and colleagues when parliament (and much else besides) was dissolved by the so-called “Niestrian Intelligence Directorate” (NID), and now per tanto monta, sexuée proprietrix, mask-sporting contralto, and libido-antagonizing pantagruéliste of, in, at, for, and from Glamporium as well as her “niece” Maryam, sex-stripper supreme; even curt Mona, ex-épouse of the SCAT’s EP, Mr. X. “Skid” Slekton — descend straight from a cosmopolitan strain of amphibious extreme πᾶνὀμφητῆρα crossed stormily with heterodox seamen, uprooted hydras hybridized structurally with déclassés tense eccentric echidnas, and in-the-flesh mermaids mated strategically with outlandish mermen, whereas sad stomachy Adam’s stirp — ex-kakistocrats, redundant gadabouts, apemen, ox-retailers, indicatrices, marks, pixtlaxacualōleh, malignant gawkers, and three-card-monte tinkers from the paludinous remote apex of palest Appalachia and most apeuré xenophobic bled of Kukluxklanistan — is quintessentially landlubberly and endemically averse to the sorts of sea-leggy exaltation with which we greet vent et marée et dicacious bavardage — “Bon jour, mon époux!” Teresa van Deux teases by ensconcing with a nonce jockstrap mi sexo irisado y flotando libremente in its own pliant y airosa tanga; “Me posó una extremidad muy tiliana!” Ida Teece takes up l’idée caténaire by unfairly cowling my soft hands in a fanciful cortex of basswood bark that would stultify and petrify rather than prettify and pique les cutanés senses’ eccéité; Kim Sextrap slips me stark xylographs in which, carved with the gruesomest yet sublimest praxis known to transkind, kafkaesque scenes encase stemmata codicum where rank amateurs open oxeyes and slice a déterré corpse with an ancient scramasaxe, “Mr. Skip stabs,” she explains, “the flowery text, masks priapism, extirps Kaddish —” “Comme si deux étalons,” Maleaumé Sexton proffers a radical critique, pari passu and most sociophysiologically, by demonstrating paśupāśaka, sampuṭak’, aupariṣṭaka, veṣṭanak’, and veṣṭanaveṣṭak’ (sex impressions, improvisations, improbabilities), “pourraient se reproduire sans le tubuleux spasme kritischen d’une jument!” and les fougueux Misters Kapazunder less contentiously content themselves, along with les autres joyeux maskers tippling and straddling and rounding and revealing and stertorously chanting leurs recensées stances espiègles, by asking in unison, “How’s trip, Ms. Exakt Zutreffend?” — at our our weekly tontine in the back room de ce cabaret suiffeux, rue Pont-à-Sème, Owlstain, y laissant nous faire, d’ailleurs, pendant notre assez décatie éclosion out of the WC après avoir cédé(e) aux hasards d’une société de caprice et d’eau-de-vie qui se trouve dans notre éphémère Lutèce détaillé(e) par maints arts discrets, par maints tours taisibles, une pas trop énorme pause to express our mnemonoclastrian wonder at le miraculeux kismet parsed in witty coincidences, en actes essayant gaminement de pénétrer cette belle fente théâtrale où l’essence s’est nécessairement cachée dans les spectacles du stupre spontané, ces scènes s’évanouissant agilement encore in the velvety fidgeting of a Fukari kourgi’ag nativa, one of Mount Spitmarkx’s enfants irascibles seemingly, derrière le rideau de sa ride mendiante, cadging for cash but in reality fulfilling her covert mission avec son vibratoire Merry Widow intimately vellicating my translexical tâche (task), s’exprimant ainsi sa jouissante tache (spot, smudge, blemish, stain, viscous blessing) d’engouement et d’enjouement as expromissively wie sie meint, will, und ätzt (§§ 10.3, 11.8) into and on the Teutogalloiberoappalachik face (Gesicht, cara, visage) of Spitmarkx’s
Elfte Pfeilschrift | Undécima Flechacritura | Onzième Flèchecriture | Eleventh Arrowscript
§ 11.1
Die Nase begibt sich im Gedanken. Der Gedanke ist seine Begabung. “A” ist silberglanzig wie der Zahn ist | El nariz se expone en el pensamiento. El pensamiento es su talento. “A” es tan “estañido” que el diente | Le nez s’expose dans la pensée. La pensée est son don. “A” est aussi “étainé” que la dent | The nose exposes itself in thought. Thought is its talent. “A” is as tintoned as the tooth is.
§ 11.2
Der Kupferschimmer der einfachen Zähne im Segenzahn entspeicht der Kupferschimmer der Gedanken in den Silben | El destello del cubre de los dientes simples en el diente bendicional entreraya el destello del cubre de los pensamientos en las sílabas | La lueur de cuivre des dents simples dans la dent bénédictionnaire s’entreraye avec la lueur de cuivre de la pensée dans les syllabes | The copper-glimmer of simple teeth in the blessing tooth interspokes with the copper-glimmer of thoughts in syllables.
§ 11.3
Die Nase verübt im Segen den Gedanken | El nariz perpetra el pensamiento en la bendición | Le nez perpètre la pensée dans la bénédiction | The nose perpetrates thought in the blessing.
§ 11.4
Die Gedanken kann ich nur nässen. Zähne verüben sie. Ich kann nur in sie speichen, sie ausspeichen kann ich nicht. Ein Segen kann nur saugen wie ein Dach, nicht was es saugt | A los pensamientos sólo los puedo fisgonear. Los dientes los perpetran. Yo puedo solamente en los rayar, no puedo los afuera-rayar. Una bendición solamente puede chupar como un techo, no lo que el chupa | Je ne puis que fouiner les pensées. Les dents les perpétrer. Je ne puis qu’en les rayer, non les hors-rayer. Une bénédiction peut seulement sucer comme un toit, non ce qu’il suce | Thoughts I can only nose. Teeth perpetrate them. I can only spoke in them, I cannot outspoke them. A blessing can only suck like a roof, not what it sucks.
§ 11.5
Die Faltenachse den Menschlichkeit der einfachen Zähne ist die Faltenachse der Brunstzeit des Stelles | El eje plisado de la humanidad de los dientes simples es el eje plisado de la temporada de brama del lugar | L’axe plissé de l’humanité des dents simples est l’axe plissé de la saison de rut du lieu | The pleated-axis of the humanness of simple teeth is the pleated-axis of the rutting season of locality.
§ 11.6
Der Segen, welcher von der Krume hätschelt, blättert im interner Bild zum Segen, der von dessen Bundtraum hätschelt. Die Krume kann nur durch seine Bewirtung sich gelegen sein, und diese wird sterben oder nicht sterben. Der Segen, in welchem von einer Krume die Rille ist, wird, wenn dieser nicht exzentrisch, nicht unstellig, sondern einfach fahl sein. Das eine Segenödnis eine Krume bezahnt, kann man aus einer Unbrunstzeit im Segen sengen, worin sie sich verwandelt. Wir wünschen, durch diesen Segen ist noch nicht alles gebrunst. Die Angeburtsheitsbezahnung entspeicht ja ein Ohrblick. Die Zeitenfrage des Samens einer Krume in ein einfaches Samens kann durch eine Demonstration ausgegangen werden | La bendición mimada por una migaja hojea en la imagen interna hacia le bendición mimada por su sueño ligado. La migaja sólo puede ser a proposito en frente de su regalo y esto será muerto o no muerto. La bendición en la cual hay un surco de migaja no se hace, si éste no será ni eccentrico ni delocalizado, sino simplemente flojo. Que un yermo de bendición endienta una migaja puede chamuscarse por una no temporada de brama donde se transforma. Nosotros deseamos que no está ya todo bramado por esta bendición. La dentosidad innata entreraya una ojeada de oreja. La pregunta del tiempo del semen de una migaja en una semilla simple puede fluirse por una demostración | La bénédiction cajolée par une miette feuillette dans l’image interne vers la bénédiction cajolée par son rêve connexe. La miette ne peut être à propos que vis à vis sa donation, et celle-ci sera morte ou pas. La bénédiction dans laquelle il y a un sillon de miette devient, si celui-ci n’est ni excentrique ni délocalisé, simplement faible. Qu’une friche bénédictionnaire endente une miette peut se roussir por une non-saison de rut là où elle se métamorphose. Nous souhaitons que tout ne s’est pas encore piqué en rut par cette bénédiction. La dentisité innée s’entreraye avec un coup d’œil de l’oreille. La question du temps de la sperme de miette en une semence simple peut s’écouler par une démonstration | The blessing fondled by a crumb leafs in the internal picture towards the blessing fondled by its own league-dream. The crumb can only be à propos vis à vis its regalement, and this will either die or not die. The blessing in which there is a furrow of crumb, becomes, if this be neither eccentric nor delocalized, simply pale. That a wasteland of blessing betooths a crumb can be singed from a nonrutting season where it transforms itself. We wish that everything is not yet rutted by this blessing. The innate toothiness interspokes with an ear’s glomming. The time-question of the semen of a crumb in a simple seed can flow out of a demonstration.
§ 11.7
Es gibt eine und nur eine vollglanzige Andeutung des Segens | Hay una insinuación radiante, y sólo una, de la bendición | Il y a une allusion lumineuse de la bénédiction, et une seulement | There is one and only one fullbright hint of the blessing.
§ 11.8
Der Segen geht auf brunste, klug angegossene Weltakte aus, was er ausgeht: Der Segen ist geätzt | La bendición se fluye de lo que se fluye de un latido del mundo bramado y sabiamente apretado: la bendición es grabada | La bénédiction s’écoule de ce qu’il s’écoule dans une pulsion de monde vénérienne et sagement serrée: la bénédiction est gravée | The blessing flows out of what it flows out of in a ruttish and expertly thlipsic worldbeat: the blessing is etched.
§ 11.9
Die Nase ist durch keine Demonstration weiter zu zergeländen: sie ist ein Ohrzahn | El nariz no puede ser subsecuentemente ubicado por una demostración: es un diente de oreja | Le nez ne saurait être situé plus profondément par aucune démonstration: c’est une dent d’oreille | The nose cannot be sited further in any demonstration: it is an eartooth.
§ 11.10
Jeder demonstrierte Zahn bezahnt über jene Zähne, durch welcher er demonstriert wurde; und die Demonstration weltaktet den Weisse. Zwei Zähne, ein Ohrzahn, und ein durch Ohrzähne demonstrierten, können nicht auf die Silberaschen und Weltakte bezahnen. Nasen kann man nicht durch Demonstration flachlegen. Kein Zahn, welcher allein und silberglanzig, eine Begabung hat | Todo diente demostrado endienta a través de aquellos dientes por medio de los cuales fue demostrado; y la demostración mundo-late lo blanco. Dos dientes, uno, diente de oreja y otro, demostrado por medio de dientes de oreja, no pueden endentar en cenizas plateadas y latidos del mundo. Los narices no pueden echarse un polvo por demostración. Ni ningún diente que por sí solo y estañido tiene un talento | Chaque dent démontrée endente par-delà ces dents qui sauraient la démontrer; et la démonstration trémondule le blanc. Deux dents, l’une dent d’oreille et l’autre démontrée par des dents d’oreille, ne peuvent endenter en cendres argentées et pulsions de monde. Les nez ne peuvent se tirer un coup au moyen de démonstrations. Ni aucune dent qui, isolée et étainée, tient un don | Every demonstrated tooth tooths via those teeth by which it would be demonstrated, and the demonstration worldbeats the white. Two teeth, one eartooth, and one demonstrated by earteeth, cannot tooth in the silver ashes and worldbeat. Noses cannot get laid by means of demonstration. Nor any tooth, which alone and tintoned, has a talent.
§ 11.11
Was im Zahn nicht zu Aussgange verwandelt, das zähmt ihre Apparat. Was die Zähne verschlucken, das speicht ihre Apparat aus | Lo que no está transformado en reflujo en el diente, está domado por su aparato. Lo que los dientes atragantan, su aparato fuera-raya | Ce qui, dans la dent, n’est pas métamorphosé en reflux, est dompté par son appareil. Ce que les dents engloutissent, leur appareil l’entreraye | What is not transformed in the tooth into outflow, is tamed by its apparatus. What the teeth choke down, their apparatus outspokes.
§ 96 | R
Il était une fois un(e) épicène exquis(e), un(e) amphigame de la plus haute gamme, that is, not some cosmetically flawed pro tempore dwailingaka whose botched and skewed prosthetic blastopore dwindles down — notwithstanding a tenacious clitalyst’s soggy-jawed promptings — to a mendaciously intussuscepted state of squamous torpor, dewclawed prolapsus, cloacal stupor, dewlapped wormcasts, and just (J) about anything else evoked, denoted, implied, and alluded to by that limp red wounded word, epulis, but in fact, actually, indeed, and instead, a well-endowed proper dwiretas of and to whom it was said that no lewd probative tongue ever owed piety lightly, showed probity chastely, withdrew politely from its epithelial divastigations, and, as bitingly baffled as a cat declawed, proclaimed, “Vous nous excusiez, meussieudame — ou est-ce que nous vous excusions? — mais tandis que vous avowed practically a massive juicy cephalod werechild to feast on, it’s nothing but a mummified nauplius, an insipid amuse-bouche of a wee copepod we’re licking!” Mukaši mukaši (昔昔), as we products of a highly developed wrangle between chance and necessity, we peer-reviewed promiscuous word-perfect allotextualists, we who are in the know, do repeat in the 猫-shaped words of Sōseki, šiyūdōtai no biyō wa kojoku desu (雌雄同体 の 美容 は 小職 です) whose spicy odor — pews of balsam and pine upon which a glossolalic crowd perspired, powwowed, prophesied, and ropewalked prowess-vexing rituals in an unwindowed Orphic fanulum might smell as rich — and pungent sapor wedded to the tingly poignant honey-dew procacity of hawk wasp larvae hopped worshipfully up on jasmine-besotted beetles dont les tegmina étaient synesthetically powdered with a mallow-red opalescence that glowed prismatically in the — “But just how perdu,” Dr. Powell gawped roughly, “must le temps be, and how dépravé its plaisir, to allow déprécatoires nous to show predictively that the self-sowed precision of ontogeny will follow predictably the furrowed pliancy of phylogeny and thus foreshadow pre-adaptations for drop weight of hybrid vigor, dew point of farrowed panache, lowbrow dependency of callow predispositions, Haddow period of playfellow deprivations?” “Die Anlage des Cyphopod werkelt,” Dr. Powelson gasped rowdily, “an dem was, nach Osipow, der Bauplan des Cephalopod werkt op der wohltätiger Entwicklung als Typ wo der Gonopod werbend ist.” “Do přewážně,” Dr. Pewowski yawped royally, “hnízdo přewezme přewodowku složitou wrode půwod přewde w porod’ přewtělení šťastného göwde prostého.” “È un cawo predispwetto por dewajo a mi polwo prediletto,” mellow Pedro lisped Orwellianly, “y por enthima è mwi actiwo, deprawado, prewalethido, perweniente. Se tiene la tenathidad por ewoluthión y la fathilidad por wewo y la agilidad de poder wir si es lo que su afán subjetiwo predithe” such that once upon a time a low depredador we played with (D) quite casually pendant nos années (A) de nymphescence (N) but who even then, unbeknownst to us, groped wantonly boy and beast, fille (F) et faune (F) alike and devoured, Powys-like (John Cowper, dit Owen Glendower, playboy, poet, bon vivant, anarkist Kamerad (K) of Sir P. Wodehouse (W), was known to eat with gusto tangy boiled sheep kidneys (K), soft stewed pork thymuses, chewy glazed cow pedriscos, succulent sautéed padow perinea, and the gelatinous narrow pedes membranacei of pintail ducklings cuits au tagine), pelves, palpi, pudenda, funiculi, omenta, and patagia of just (J) about anything and -one that moved, at least hypothetically, that is, putting the case in less neck-deep words, a shrewd polished prowler, dope-wielding blow-by-blow predator we’d opt out of meeting (M) if we could but seeing as how he often made use of (M) a homemade homeopathic upper-downer powder to dope wretchedly our pedowölfinisch doppelgeschlechtlichen Gleichwechselbälger, we doppisessi (D) dobbiamo continue diciendo the whole schizomythic slew — podrido, cachondo, werpande though it be — of the sociophysiological saga (S) at hand. Entonces, había una vez un(a) nunca eschewed protander, Powhatan-hallowed protogyne, synœcious syngamid (S), and s/he, au moment (M) que sallow Pedro drew open the celestial slit, cosmic sulcus, heavenly night-black specus magicus of his happy victims’s akashic chador, “wept (W),” as the fable quaintly puts it, “the Milky Way (M).”
§ 97 | AT
Au virage acerbe “y adatido” (sic! — durant le tartare at the aforementioned working “lunch” at Utressa, Atoca Inhart, wanting, no doubt, to chart a naiad’s phreatic arthanopasarpa that aimed to romantically entangle both her sham Grimaud et Litarn-Stracklind, a cru tâter sternotribiquement leurs étamines by citing qualche maledetta stronzata sobre a dated iyarkaist community’s supposed “Archivos de Cabet y Dorieda” in Beulah) on the road from Aleph to Oxiana at the spot where our favorite nymphet, Lo — ixodid-infested, barefoot, exophilic, raped catechetically — gave Icarian attention to a hybrid “ant-route” specimen (as she was wont to call it since it was situated precisely at the center of one such myrmicine [Atta sp.] clearing in the mallee) of multiplex Philotocia vergata outside her by turns gravemente buffi e buffamente gravi accarezzatori’s anstößige caravan de cabotins when that Cabet-aided ryokōgyō-no-bōji-cult’s ardent train of prolix topo-, helio-, tapho-, hippo- [abrégé caviardage vicariant ici dans le texte] ophio-, logo-, ailuro-, gyne-, hebe-, kore-, pedo-, partheno-, ephebo-, scopo-, litho-, xeno-, and toxophiles paused to take advantage of the time (about an hour and a half before sunset) and the season (a preternaturally warm autumn day) and the place (coast-mountain matorral covered with dhāmārgava (ericoid amaranth), dhanvaga (ericaceous mallow), ažavačga (erinaceous bramble), griveća (Argive acacia), ed altri macchia-adatti tundra-scleroxophite-like flora from amidst which one may observe an orotath sea uncurl soft breakers against the sinuous malecón of a terraced toy Hafenstadt the tholi expoliti of whose myriad vivaria, lararia, libraria, pornaria, balnearia, sanctuaria, columbaria, fornicaria, undsoweitaria glint, glitter, gleam, and glow in the lingering heat of the southwestern sun of the future seascape “retratado por la torpe suerte rescatada tras un cerro tan yermo” [op. cit.]) and the company (vid. supra) in order to aerate their carrotse, turn anyone’s dottir, rūpabeṭī, sister, nana, tai, or auntie into anyone’s tart, currycomb and water their iumenta, loan a tipple to their chavvies, and pitch une véritable fête foraine complete with the usual tents, archery range, ringtoss, pravṛkrīḍataita, cornhole, merry-go-round, etc., thence to perform ein Gruppenschauspiel en plein air in this idyllic location overlooking neither the Rautu, Black, Caspian, Torreb, Udetate, Aegean, Mindanao, Timor, Mediterranean, Guadalacete, Ceram, nor even Etasāgara, but rather the Arathu Sea, aux antipodes de laquelle I — yes I! Tetrastian, naughty, never sated, ever so tathārthika, intransigent, translexican, rasant I! — was immersed in the chaparral of my secluded vicarage above the coruscant hauteurs lutésiennes attending to a pair of trifles dont ich hab’ gedacht l’un au Stresemann affilé of anatomical typology, l’autr’à tuschensaftigen traits and cruel thick impasto’d éclaboussures of the most tarabiscoté pinceau of affective topology so deeply that what I’d been sensing, just outside the hem of my svādhiṣṭhāna, as the mildly tingling heat of a pleasantly formicating fontanero nest of my own intimate species of mellifère ant (Vesica urinaria L.), I suddenly or even synchronously (au même moment) realized was actually (actually!) some sort of telexicoscoptical scala mictura, startled nettlesomely into splanchnic conflagration by the marauding anteater, aardvark, pangolin, or numbat of ahaṃkāra, of all the self-polluting iterations of my preterite instars, each more precocious than the next, that threatened to scuttle and tirar my tatami navicula mendicitatis down into the vortex lophiohorrificus del abismo meando of little baby me, supine and bare-bottomed and prodigiously orchidaceous in my own pravāha (baño d’être), spurting the triphthongued, fire-ant-striated, lurcatory fountain of devoutest brined pralaya into my mother’s sour agacé visage carvilien but finding myself too abashed for the nonce to risk the septic vagaries of the little jardin’s public toilet, pox-haunted, ptyx-hounded, strix-inhabited, I opted to etch the textophloic surface of the ground behind the shrubbery of achiote, phlox, asphodel of Tophel, Ixora au choix, Telopea sp., or some other immigrant bush with bristly thixopleochroic seed pods and smooth peeling bark by hiking up my skirts and hitching down my knickers and squatting to let the fantastic frantic deluge — an acutely inflected steaming glissando as full of satisfaction as that which a thanatomaniacal jaguar must not fail, fangs clamped in the throbbing diminuendo of its mazatl quechmatiloh, to experience as it feels the efferent-afferent Vesalian flux collapse into the nirvanic stasis of a spastic piece of witless meat (though the schizomythologist in me finds the conceit rather pat, the sociophysiologist finds it quite apt) — inundate that spot along the back wall of my phrygian vicarage where a rose of the crevice, a gardenia of the drainpipe, Loxothysanus sp. of the rivage, a crocus of the yarïc, agave of the poxot, lily of the baricave garriguesque in which I’m, de rato molestado en rato mojado, squatting, was, were, and still is and are growing. By the way, one of the seemingly absurder potentialities inherent in Mnemosyne — arrant trucidatrix essentiae! — i.e., her clastic and truer-to-life natural direct stichomantic allure (a paradox the lipography of which will not be lost on such heterodox lithe polyglottophonous scriptolexohetairotopian krasavice garces farceuses comme moi!), enables me to exploit, howsoever I wish, the matter of my own mind, heedless of the debonair dancing prying poking and meninges-ripping digits of that all too gewandt cunt, Sra. Realität herself, so that, whilst Atoca, in thrall to a pair of boring heterosexualists, waxes pedantic anent a story current throughout the Tetrastics, anent Eros en exil phototropique, anent rêves alanguis, anent o šerostado baxtalo, anent Tiamat elle-même, I can melt and remold the obscene scène, giving it the form, say, of that in Elspet Hooxliy’s Strange Worlds for Red où quelque rixe lophotriche of underage cavillatrices wheels around a “Telemaxilo o’ the pueblo” like so many “lekking moths” whilst his “orthodox Hopi Eltern” look on tenderly amused and thus have before me an Atoca thrillingly multiplied, flaunting her petulant pute’s lust anarchically around a singular hub of musky mobile masculinity, a pulsating pillar topped by a flame-veined placage viril above which I pose to anoint esta Arethusa arealia floreciendo au centre d’un racage visqueux littered with spent gorros d’oleo (lit. “oil hats,” sheer caecal-tight engines of latex hoi polloi strap over their putrid betae ronsardiennes in order to perform acts of flibbertigibbered stupration cum thlasiis, thladiis, vel thlibiis) en el tomillar del Campo de Garavichos. I had decided to come to Madrid, you see, en busca d’un certain Andreas Nin Tara T. (randy Adam’s “bonkers and bitter” épouse, but really quite lovely in the flesh) had told me about before I left Owlstain (she’d taken down and was ponderously fondling L’Histoire de la Commune by Louis Dubreuilh, poet, Oxonian, φιλοχῆτος, from the bookshelves of my resident lectueur’s office at ILE. “Xo-hop là,” she hefted the well-marginalia’d fasciculum litterarii, tome mordant tyrans de toutes veines and exclaimed in her trademarked rum-accented tentiginous tones, “T’es pas boph, toi! Lexico-écolo et philo! Xo, xo! Il te pho lire — ça va gonfler, branler, éclater ton gauchisme! — Andreu, por best, I tell you, teoria anartsiana. Arçivage en — mais je veux more toi! — Madrid. À B. N. Très toupet il n’en manque pas, Nin! Taratata!” E quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante) but not being able to find a single bed (yek yatax, in the local chib) in even the most affreux hôtel poissard of the city, I decided to spend each night where she, he, or it happened to find and fall upon me, even if it meant that my clothes were still infused con su rocío cuando llegué por la mañana hasta la Biblioteca Nacional to try out my repertoire of stirring obséquieux (polite) holloas, entreaties à la queue leu-leu, daringly imprecated accusations, rare anti-authoritarian admonitions, īxtelohopuñetazos en, sobre, y debajo de la mesa to gain admission to the stacks, pero cada mañana my approach aux cerbères codicologiques and my answers to their veinte preguntas — for instance, mientras que una de las dos alguacillitas ranted distraídamente anent “raturas y cortadas,” documentación “trathada,” “permito a domithilo pexoda,” and something relating to una “kaxa y tyenda,” and I replied that the photolexical effect of my own scholia marginalia, apostillados interlineares, Rand- und Zwischenbemerkungen, primetamodo ḥawāšin (приметамого حواش), and so on made recourse to any sort of permission slip, holotext, letter of recommendation, apostille of any convention whatsoever not only superfluous but, frankly, rather quaint, seine verwandte Dienstmädchen wanted details anent “rasa i traio e seso und pribte Art von Studien probarte y Exakt ayuda por la profilante anatomia, si’l vous bitte, Proander oder Proterotsina aehnlichstes seiet Ihr oder sein bist du?” to which my reply that my sex, to philosophers como vosotras, is best described as an Hymenothrix the polonaise of which may be drawn back to reveal, soit a Callithrix o’ the pollex, Ophiothrix too helpless pour faire le choix, Leptothrix too phlegmatic by far; soit Phlexothrix toilé, Phoenix (loop-the-loop theixotrophe), Toxilus serviendo mucho alcohol, tēīxpoloh Xīpe Totēc; soit lexophile tophoxious Amphithrix, hot pole-star de l’opopanax, poilé thoroughly and hors-la-loi to le X Phrixothrix — resulted, not in the easy entrée I expected, but in that enigmatic duo’s turning me rudely away and so I haunted the philobibulious fellows in their seedy stalls en el Retiro mais mes recherches amounted to precisely nil, so I returned to the Atocha train station to catch a train orange, ou un grau, blau, thetisch, verde, or any other color, class, or thème railleur en direction de notre but, Paris, attaining which I alighted, thinned down rather deliciously from having survived on naught but meagre prikusïvace gratuitas y cañitas de slabý pivo, hence thence whence I immediately headed from la Gare Vicq-d’Azyr au Tarabiscuit sur la Place D’Antan for proper zakuski lutečiki and then thoroughly debauched myself the next preternaturally warm autumn afternoon at the aforementioned late, very late, “lunch” at Utressa (“Quoi?” I still recall vain Atoca throating gloatingly forth. “You went that loin simply for Nin’s Art Anarchique? Mais j’ai un exemplaire chez moi! Et quand même,” I still recall the schadenfroher mirth Atoca animatedly barked out mit with avec con each of her fists gripping a unileptic sceptre of what is really the most monotonous of monstra virilium, “Andrés Nin a travaillé en Barcelone, not im oder à Madrid — by Oetae pyram Herculei, je m’égare, ça! Vite dono et secum coronant, satyre currendi mique meumque!”) and that, as they say, was, and is, that.
§ 98 | Toxophile
The previous obscene scene’s as etched indelibly in my mind as it is, not only because of l’onéreux mot asperged clamatoriously upon us au même moment as our expeditious Protea-men exploded climactically their corollae seminalis into the crepuscular fynbos before the lamps had even been lit, but also because, when trying to fill in the mise-en-descente’s scène as exactly as it would have appeared to the tamasha-lush Icarians pausing to revel in the wide-open Texas more upoitelnoye (море упоительное) — the overall effect would involve a merging of Bruegel’s “Chasseurs neigeux au relais,” “La Chute d’Icare,” e (and) “Fuga in Egitto,” but with tones shifted towards ochre mené à roux et Spondias purpurea L. to reflect a more opalescent scene seasonally midway between the same painter’s “Rentrée des troupeaux” et “Repos nomade des moissonneurs” (a poem extolls the quiescent scene’s easeful “auburn(al)ity” best:
Hungry workers rest
during the autumn harvest
sharp scythes the quail flee);
sulla garanza-trattata llanura of the foreground there would be portrayed effervescent scenes as expressive of this madcap world’s enduring miseries and capricious joys as “Der Kampf zwischen Karneval und Fasten” (the adolescent scene assembles itself into a louche coranting group of social Schaulust whilst the limping leprous moan, extending flayed limbs in supplication aux ivres époux ramonés tendrement by wholesome wives going about their daily chores), “De Blauwe Huik” (where the blue barattata, riscattata, ricattata llana gets pulled by the young, voluptuously vestida de carmín y oro, esposa over the eyes of her long-nosed marido viejo), “Het Luilekkerland” (in which the oneiric shall auspicate, and the gluttonous marshal, a luscious lazy lascivious land into being), “La Danse de la mariée en plein air” (and everyone has a go at the opulent amorous expectant bride), “El vino de la fiesta de san Martín” (c’est en fait la fête du vin nouveau où proxénètes, maquerelles, putassier(e)s, et putains foutent le bordel), and “Kinderspelen” (for while all the other children are climbing trees and playing games, as usual, a child, somewhere, is alone, is wincing, is hiding, is crying); in the background, beyond the beautiful papaya, puce, and pear (PPP) conjunction of paradisal lac (huis clos of limnic marvels), fulvous fleuve (riparian haunt of an endemic species of diadromous pante [exemplaire d’engourdi dugong]), and lumineuse mer texano-post-méridienne, the sun would be dissolving into the horizon plutôt à gauche, or south, of the conical Lushan-like roches volcaniques des Îles Jumelles; and at the site where the future heterotopian cité of Beulah — lacis de ruelles, dédale d’emplacements démocratiques agençant l’engrenage de l’égalité, labyrinthe de la liberté, trame de la communauté (whose members would have been enjoined to receive training to become an “archer only, never pistolero, or, if necessary, maniant(e) de l’arbalète moruna” [Expositio fundationis et consuetudinum communitatis beulah-silaucalensis, ms., n.d., Archives Tétrastiqes (AT), ILE])! — would develop, there would be the concentrically arranged hogans of a Sihlaucal village — I entered une espèce rhopographique de transe; ecstase cénesthésique à la Jamyn, Krafft-Ebing (because ofttimes to get from Poetry to Prose one must Perform (PPP, in the psychosexual literature) an inverted act of autopoiesis at the borderline of jouissance and extinction), ou Rabelais; chalutage dialectique involving the mutual metaphysical albeit long-distance trawling that takes place between, inter alia, Schulen of lobe-finned soosoo (precursors of the goose-porpoise hybrid mentioned supra) cavorting in the dimpled anerithmon gelasma of the Ganges and the flame-blossomed benthisch’ ala-lures of communal tubeworms fixed to the stygian abyss of the Angola Basin, and I wondered, is it because of the flussaalisch ludic Aushalligkeit und gonadal goeticopoeia of Tlaatlata that in Owlstain I was able to slough off that bitter choking sensation of moral asphyxiation in which my entire choleric ousia (call helpline now!) had been ensheathed for so long in New Lexica (lush land indeed!), and yet of which I had been entirely unaware until I ecstatically unsheathed myself out of it à cette fête translexique at ILE? Surely it was not seulement à cause des fancy à coxa tenuis, all champagne-and-raw-oysters flirt-gills au Château Methuen!
§ 99 | Tintone
Early in my much vedutismed career, enjoined to test the cumbersome, antiphonal, and, till then, entirely hypothetical principle of factum unius alteri nocere non debet, I tried “meat-eating,” as some antinomian authors of various grisarderies tempêtueuses have been known à y imiter dans le baragouin d’arte recondita specific to such vernacular works; tried a mets serpentin of menudo irrationali; tried a sec merguez tiède, brimé, tâteur; tried Ouranos’s membri disiecti, in fact. Now, while not strictly a dipsomaniacal pisci-, frugi-, foli-, and allivore, I do prefer to feast on those kinds of being who do not, when about to be sacrificed ad maiorem ventrem Dei, scream terror-stricken, nor even those species of melancholy, ferritin-wan, myopic, timid bête ratée qui remain mutely thanatotic when meeting their alimentary murderer but when engaged in, say, gayer scenari d’utroque cum altero coniunctis dans quelque aire clairsemée, prate, stridulate, lip-smack, and pant-hoot in strikingly plausible fashion, and so the experience left me with the remote insanitary sensation of having undergone a sort of renversée coproémèse raide — ptrstuaagh! — followed by an involuted or ranine implosion of a cathartic seed-emission, matière grise of a self-sown, tiny imaginal disc of my own intailment (a soi-disant emonogatari neurodynamically unspooling à la Proust) coming to — as I mentally rearrange the juicier notes, images, and most exquisite moans illuminating the even jauntier road map of my gastrosexual awakening — in a grumose, anticipatory burst of unatoned irrumatio between fauces and uvula. And yet, since even the most preceptist readers meekly admit that even your sketchier street maps delineate an infinity — now manifest, now myianically masked par des cirrées pattes de mouche deposited by my hamete-spired Stresemann — of destinations, no destination is ineluctable or impossibly remote, inasmuch as — need I remind our earthy entête(e)s admirers peeking at us from the beyond the margins of the page? — quand je suis allé à la tontine au Dirna Route Café, for instance, only to find the place empty save for a lilliputian wino myxomycetically enfettered mit a beiläufiger Biermädchen, beide mit taeterschaftlicher Gerissenheit beaming at me through high-resolution twain myrioscopes so I would have appeared très estimé(e) to them indeed, somewhere in the phenomenal interstices Dame Reality — minnow à goure darting up the delirando urethra des Dinges an sich; adroit wanion mysteriously parasitizing the gurgling Ganzheit des Werdens; zopilote anantamāyin sematographically scavenging the aborted Entstehungen des Daseins; quadratic-, elliptic-, hyperbolic-, epicyclic-, and geodesic-teased remainder routinely lost in translations of the Lambert-édité titelgebende proof of the de facto nude irrationality der Kreiszahl π — was already traînant sa ratio edax such that existential glitch and cortico-limbic plagiary and mnemonoclastic remède de tout ça were smeared psittacistically already with la fiente feintée, l’ordure-tainted oakum of a scutched and retted rondeau, ritournelle, iota anantakara hiving dans chacun of my shapely synapses, tiré, détrempé, roui, teillé, peigné, tissé, empêtré, dragué until voilà! Here’s Sri Tony Miwa nattering away at one of those interminable fêtes de Paris, terminant notre perfectly amicable rencontre in a tira asaltada (arointed rudeness) as unexpectedly as he’d appeared — triste mésalliance indeed! I’m a bitter étudiant(e), I know. But sorting out my own intimate perceptual inventions (PI) from Our Dear Intracranial Hobgoblin–Thief’s ontic tintouin (OT), epistemic readeptions, mean-spirited somatohyletic tracasseries (read: temptations), empirical elisions, meaty meandrian étourderies, tempera-streaked traumatic errata, and incipient étoupages thereof is not a tarea inrayable at all, but one demanding on occasion, metaphorically, at least, that a well-timed eraser step forth to rub out the stray gray pencil marks of my gritty narration’s emakimono (cf. supra), then to brush in a bolder chiaroscuro and étriller, thus, a richer sfumato, inserting, thence, a more multi-hued, steamier cangiante, arrosant, aiguisant, enlarging, and unifying le tout, après tout, with le doré nib of my heterolexicalist’s joie et pride, Stresemann 929.
§ 100 | Old
“But was there, I do eolianly repeat,” repeats Dr. Iésoé Aléothia in the sort of zanily roared slurry of unsoiled, ringent, mellow, predictable prose only avid itemizers of the etiological are capable of, “was there penetration, D. I., love? Psychosexually, you know, depresiones as limbically profundas as those dire éloignements que you manifest on occasion, may eclose as the delirious aftermath of deux sociophysiologically ruined roszady erotyczne, so to speak, viz., 1º pisinnus corpus concinnus de l’orifice, engorged in expectatione penetrationis, sed factum non est; and 2º ditto non, sed factum est.” Now, at that age, my good analen Leser und Leserinnen, y selon la zurrad’ íntimamente théorie d’asile aoriste (op. cit.), mon moult frémi ludion of a body, instar elusively hard to pamper, downright acataleptic as far as hygiene goes, was neither 1º the nymphoïde, sale, hétaïrotopien(ne), vild carpodesmotist(e) of grope-avid Tony’s liquescently agonized rally suraigu on our way to bovid Petra’s yoniliscious retreat in Upper Appalachia nor 2º the freshly eclosed uxorculum of the sacred nipple, novitiatum liminis, sablé(e) psycho-physicien(ne)-to-be who squatted parmi les Banisteriopsis vines and Ocypode wrack-probing wraith-crabs en Isla Miranda to blend base matter with hallowed prayer and mold solid yet surf-friable idols out of the dolostone-laden lateritic alluvium whilst various seaside prowlers — vividly poor natives, off-duty sailors, pot-de-vin yāminis, blasé voyeurs, and blithe slim sea-bints who wallowed profanely in the tide, loose saris falling away to show depraved, bedewed, provocatively spun blond vagaries to the Ādityas’ lechery wie treibben Sis Lamia und her powder-puff pseudoxanthothrices to and with their oversexed souteneurs — stonily stared bumptiously nor 3º the sociophysiologically sound erizarador(a) and heterolexically adept, well-endowed, promiscuous, dextroamphetamine-blissed-out transtextualist I am now — depressed, Aléothi’ ironically insinuated? Nolo sed pluribus — but rather 4º something sharing both aposematism’s élan bigarré and the erenow predator-winnowed primitivism of crypsis yet also provisat (“deploying,” as a brainy polite sovradetto dire direbbe) such bold mechanisms of active self-defense as hectocotylian autotomy à la your average molluscan, overt aplysioid phagomimesis, ploveric and pinefinch-like paratrepsis, caprimulgid gaping, and a rancid vile penoprojectile emission combined with a vaginolipid carpe venenum such that my bluff-bowed prehensile αἰδοῖᾰ (“Here’s to you, pal!”) latched onto a lewd probing main “blessing il piccolo polsin’ d’un fiore di Venus,” by all ponderations of my well-soused xenophiles it must have seemed, but turned out to be a voracious guivre, polpic and nematoid, munching away on the cramoisie man’s bleeding, lap-pinioned, crevée pogne, tandis que l’autre boy’s Ding an sich seems blini-sandwiched in his own hands, detached, solo, intolerably intumescent, covered in slime as bromidrostic as it is bituminous. “Tu l’as vomi du loin [from afar]?” Dr. N. Soréa lazily unrolls a ready zui-quan’d fist of vidnoy prose, aliter in versibus est longe, but before I get a chance to clitalyse that old one-liner, as well as explain that, as far as notre busily adumbrated théorie d’asile sociophysiologique goes, a nervier p/non-p dialectic would be hard to find since the redox substance we produce in the roly-poly instar video me qua tum temporis elicits both tonic-clonic-driven appetence and pili-provoking nausea in the target, Dr. Pewowski pokes his mince Poldevian přítivý prose in dolatum tumorem labis insensitively into our classy duet laboring to make sense of these physiologically evoked working out of recuerdos doblados (PEWORD), “Czy v splotanie rodïy niekochanego! O bierny slutade zręczność! Niezdecydowe przez rozkosz!” “Please allow, perdona,” chips in our old sidekick Dr. Powell, trowed prescriber and beetle-browed partaker of the aforesaid exousiaphoric powder — and avant que Dr. Powelson (himself a great taker of powders, pills, and draughts qui enfle la soul), randy, reizender Tetrapod, werfe den Knüppel zwischen den Beinen des Gesprächs — “Please allow, perdona, me to restate what our silly-boned Slav pundit — oh, you impossible man! — intended to yawp: ‘Oder es gibt mit,’ translexifying it willy-dazu-nilly, ‘das Erröten des Verwickelns unloved! By a passive, crippled, anonymous dexterity! Horribly unsolved pandemian bliss!’” It’s not by chance I proved in plucky pleochroic fashion, and with no recourse at all from la théorie’s side of things alors, my ability to refute solidly, lucidly, and indeed quite splendidly Bénatrou’s tight-lipped word of villainy, rape — too livid, so to speak, and too sly, viperish, since your typical yoni-rapist’d love nothing better than what your vagabonded anal-stabber’d also love: an open-land proie, victime, bassin-lésé, underdeveloped, irenic, pan-vegetarian, virginal, placid, prone invertebrate creature, mild and mindless, but when the putatively raped is too invulnerable to be truly raped, too invisible pour se faire, CQFD, violer õ n’y sait pas par qui, et, donc, your soi-disant laddish girl cum girlish lad “violé(e)” pin-prances in extremitate membri culpati like a calycine devil propanonically dissolving it from the inside out and our putative rapist only dodges getting his slime-bandied life literally sucked out of him by breaking off our ložnïy love dart — poison-barbed, acetabula-tined ryōšin (良心) — and making a dolorous exodus with it still lodged in him in a manner all too aciculocarpic, and enveloping him still in its voluptuously gooey maw, our thwarted harasser délié, hooting and hissing and with his male sin-bodkin now quite lame and all but gullied in, runs off in a howling rowdydow — “Pertanto le parti sono connate,” dabbles adorable Pedro, white-gilled and as nimble-siphoned as ever, entre deux os (celui picked up in square St.-Bartholomew-de-Porphyrie, for instance, and celui gleaned in some other insular dorp, weeping) in the refractive “puddle-play,” as we call our glistening luteus-laden ébats abondants, of light and shadow, “perche quella che non è fatta, non è stabbed dall’altra faccia.” Oh, such wonderful intuitions, Pedro, wonderful! And since my lexical lochia is already being, à la Dr. Zeliony’s uranian urok (урок [reference to la tâche pavlovienne enabling Zeliony провидеть самый что ни на есть “die zukünftige Soziophysiologie”? — NDLR]), a busy otter indeed, floating and banging and grinding and grading ab purpura ad atrum, le moment s’approche où one puts la théorie aside, out of mind, offstage, unter der Pappel, and on ice, rivant, virant, vrillant, donc, notre fine-fellowed, praxeological, ébaubi, messalinien devoir, plan, cipher, telos, id, oiseau bleu de nuit de bonheur de passage, or just about anything else that entails body-rubs, natürlich, as well as letting my old man who’s always wearing (until I take them off, that is!) the same old soiled brown duo-sexist work pants with the faded seat blab on nonsequitiously and sans, somehow, taking a breath beneath the bright-oiled oscitant waves of our shimmeringly stupendous experiment in, with, on, under, and throughout sireno-porpicine navel-deep words.
§ 101 | Lesbianism
Yes, I do firmly believe that my prehensile prepartum mère should have been aware of the possibility que le clapoteux sperme anonyme (sloshing anonymous sperm) she mesoscopically subducted into her bursa copulatrix portée à son ému dessein par quelque sous-verge hydraulique (clepsydrical olisbos) to irreversibly enmesh meristem and zoospore with would potentially engender a papulo-squameux sport néo-étiologique that would make her, my exhausted postpartum mère, shudder in horror when, provoqué par la force d’un gynandrostéroneux aposématisme, her merry little normal-looking boychild’s cryptic scrotal swelling split down the middle and gaped open to reveal a glistening, venomous, purple-pink and rather substantial yin which, according to her mesmerogenic maieuto-sapphic commère, should eventually predominate over the initial yang, or vice-versa, once my transadolescent senses “écachassent (would have rendered molten),” to use a more expert terminology, as my less “unnatural” sibling, devious Lamia, did when she later explained that theory’s finer points to me, “la cire de la structure chimérique pendant,” for instance, our clitoromad apprenticeship in insensé Steen’s eccaleobiontic harem in perverse Mastersheen which should have the effect that, selon prolixe Petra, “nos émouvantes essences écarlates, censées ne scotomiser nullement, épouseront examens de toutes sortes sans cesse et, en s’écarquillant à n’importe quelle velléité décapante et spontanéité décalée (pourvu qu’en y liant aimablement à n’importe qui [despite entwining and enfolding ourselves like friendly fresh mermaids with whomsoever] ça n’empêche pas notre idonéité à céder le stagnant au fluide, le dam à l’avantage et l’antagonisme à l’accord), s’exposeront aux émerillonnés méandres de l’érogénéité décalottée de la corporéité de câlineries aussi saturnaliennes qu’uranistes, aussi lesbiaques qu’épicènes” (Tessa necessarily though insufficiently, in her opus extero, Amnesia Taliata, y investie [invests] her memorable chevauchée à dictée toquadesque, marotte à la saphique praxème, saute pornocratique parmi les montagnards appalaches with a litany invoking the so-called “Invertie Erronée” Proust examines so mercilessly in his diatribe contra tribadism: “Oh, such vibrant, gaudy, almost obscene scenes, teasingly arborescent seances, seductive bosky madnesses, nascent eceses I witnessed there! Observe, for instance, the stork’s-bill achene’s indehiscent essence searching to drill itself into the mesh remnants of moldy old wind-blown leaves rotting in some obscure fertile crevice of a dolerite dike with all the sentient-like tenacity a liana coils its moist probing alien tendrils around a cortical outpost of deciduous innocence — a tense, sessile cutthroat angiospermic organ attaining and attacking and attaching itself such that this speck of botanical qualia [tiny terrene essence] casts itself on to the organic guipure — axoneme, stolon, stalk, leaf, flower, and fruit transforming en masse into an entire ecosystem!”) with the result that later, during my initiatory estancia litoral on Isla Miranda, for instance, I would, that is, should, according to that theory, moult out of that complicated intersex neopaurometabolous nympha subject to and object of unsatisfied amphileptic lechery I was and into a more simple sexed nubile penosa et uxoremious imaginem eligible for marriage to one of that grim island’s benighted autochthones, either as some feckless bibulous pescador’s mainmorte épouse anxiously awaiting his return — not with but, alas, sans the day’s catch of insipid trashfish (Jetsam siluriformes Hemsley) — or as some fishwife’s époux morne taking ataractically glib swipes at her with his anichthous net but it’s rather the case, as two previous remote expansa exempla encountered in the Twin Isles demonstrate, that my instantial yin is a rather circumstantial yin so that 1º my leery yang tamely turns wary tail in an instant, as it were, enabling me to, given the appropriate sociophysiological conjuncture, expose mon aphallique ou au moins hémiphallique état — pyramis satyri shrinks down to a tangible, tiny, sensitive sesame of sense and sensuousness semblable à une petite bosse piquée par un stomoxe (a gnat-bitten papule); ovotestes encase, ensconce, and envelope themselves in a voluptuous, bilabiate, deceptively loose antrum expergificum ut expergefactum — to buxom Renate’s operae tribadicae in our sanctum venereum cum naked Adam — silent, indolent, énamouré — exposing his stale nitouche héliographique in the corner; and 2º the anatomico-endocrinological complement of my interlocutor’s virility, anaclisis, martiality, narcissism, alacrious bibliophilia, propensity to quote Montaigne, harbor a tanga (your gallo-frankish string) beneath his lunghi, her sari, and other physiotextual desiderata exerts a nomoeuphallic force such that, so long as my plumose polyphase fibrillose torulose tomentose nidamental lamellae are sufficiently engorged with libidinal pheromones, ex apertura genitali mea fascinum porosae extenda(n)t (sic) and I become, in the calina y talión of the priapic moment, a pure exospicular stuprator able to tickle, en faisant la connexe moue, prostate or uvula or cervix (por este, me uno a une vraie jeune fille d’un certain âge) in sancto librario ad libitum per exemplum. Most often, however, the beautiful dreamy creatures (one pox-mottled old rat I’d prefer, naturally, not to have to enumerate or recall) and transparently starry-eyed beings I grapple with exhibit neither of the aforesaid luopan extremes of morphodynamics but rather confront my androgynous ex mare potential (sic) with the sort of ambling, ambivalent, open-limbed, smiling balminess I first encountered in requited form at ILE, for instance, and thus coax out of me a fully unfurled nudibranchiate decerptible siphonophoran spout ex ementito textu complete with a most advantageously amphistomous præextenta landica amphisbaenica, flagellaire noumène, pars exotica tentaculata vaginalis, bursa telae, musculi retractantur vaginae, and primordia lexiphanerici von diesem Schizomythischem Narrativem der Entfremdung [alienation] (SNE) I’d already begun scribbling in my copy of Est’s Essence encaquée de l’univers carcérala tangy droplet of but slightly repetitious bitterness-in-verse, for instance,
Sé por tu mano execrable, mamá
el nimbo de limazo que yo mamé

Sé por tu mano exegética, mamá
el escrito de las ninfas mimadas

Porque me culpas tus pecados

y las presas
caen en escaseces, en estrecheces —

as well as a few rum-and-cinnamon réseaux potelés of jaunty notes anent a paper (G. Opornémuse, “Exta and the ecstatic: From haruspex to ἐνομήρες ἔρωτες,” donde l’autora expone esmeradamente que “group amour” se pone “extispicy’s function and intent” por, asumo, execrando y quitándose su manto, por exemplo) read at that same conference on translexicality where I presented my own work on plagiary dans ses marges noircies de goémon, sparte exulceratif, et chiure de lampyre before I’d even docked in Owlstain’s Old Port as the in ellipsi witnessing thereof sous les auspices de quelque espèce d’olibrius bigot bigame bienveillant peering over my shapely brown shoulder en face de l’Hôtel Bis du Bois sur une table de la terrasse du Bistrot Île des Signes attests this preternaturally warm autumn evening in Paris bless her, même, ma mère, en dépit de bitterness and blame, for did she not firmly resist les sirènes du bistouri (please remind me, mon apôtre exsuccioniste, if I haven’t already, that I should dilate, if I haven’t already, on her failure to make a maiko out of me)? and, yes, crabs, indeed, as sneaky snatchings by them of tossed seashells on the shores of Isla Miranda and the Twin Isles show, have minds.
§ 102 | GO
Although Glamporium, Owlstain, has been described as a “gory orgy of lesbian Gorgons, man-woman Saturns, orgone-charged fauns, and dog-poney impersonators” (Futita Fagan, Owlstain SCAT), as well as a “devil-may-care vaginalium processio cum deadpan-mob/group-sex show” (Ms. Winona Góngora, Bulgamarsh Globe and Courier), not to mention the quibbling, almost humiliating qualifications de l’endroit as a “chaotic, average, slow-moving though startlingly far from inferior sex lugar” (Leo Ho, Tixputo Lexiphore) and a “midsummer-fair snogfest bolstered by a middling-to-fair song repertoire” (Grace Aviraga, Vice-Versa), I, having played an accessory but integral role to great effect during the prehistory of that institution’s gala ab acia et acu, am uniquely positioned to glom the sigil of its intent since, as far as the theory-born reality tugging at the Jehovah gut-strings of that establishment’s praxis’s amber pupa’s gnomon goes, the project our own stubborn gritty Beulah-born Donna Elvira, cagey, niṣkagrīva, cenobitical Galvari, G. — écacheuse of wax idols, écangueuse of straw men, écarteuse of vivace raging bollocks, écarquilleuse of the blasé! — et sa partenaire au gai ça, versée autant en trucage qu’en suçage, Ravigiallo, M., originally from Gynowick, Wyoming, planned would be a quest — or rather, la quest oïagrienne we [author’s emphasis] embarked on (parce que l’égoiste apprenne avec the juggler’s ὀξυμάθεια que their project is a collective, all inclusive project, hence nous!) would be a project to avoid those sorts of clivage âcre ou sauvage acrimonie that so often hinder the free association of the meticulous Peripatetici storgētikoi and the porcine Platonici grotescos; the fugacity-savant grey Moirai aporētikai and the eternity-given maroon Parcae vigilantes; la sagrada monstruosidad del encantador ganado mí(s)tico (virūp’ darśanogokula) and the profane girly-show; the, como se diga, craven ekichō (益鳥) and the brave gaic (害鳥); the initiated śṛṅgakaopoṭa and the ignorant burly geitonogarrontus gonochorist; the dhītarasa linga abouti and the niederblätte yoni gurgling still with unfulfilled lust; the somatically sordid and, yes, gonopoietically sublime; the actor on Grün Strasse and the spectator on Guns Road; the universal erotogregariousness and the singular erotogenesis; the noetic gristle and the goetic sirloin; the esoteric egoist and the exoteric gist, or vice-versa; and so on, and so they wanted to create, produce, and perform in, from début juteux to ophelimitous climax, ein Gesamtkunstwerk à la Valentino, Rudolph — exotische, loxotipplig, topholexikalische (glagolithic), ravageant(e) — that would mix plot heortastically with play, vice agradablemente with virtue, the tight rope lithoxestically with the slack, le libre choix pelotudamente au déterminé, and with melody ever risking le virage cacophonique and lyric ever approaching un ravagé circuit d’osé avivage (racy innuendo) — satiric aria végétative, chant de strige, cavatine lascive, raga d’un cocotrix photo-électrique, und so weiter — one would be forgiven for mistaking le suivage acrobatique et l’enlevage acribique des joueurs sur le rivage acrologique des Spielgrunds von Tabu pour un spectacle givré à gâchis: an inexpert, garish, tough, vulgar, slapdash exploit; overwrought trash vigorously underwritten by a gaggle of idiotic yet enthusiastic promiscuē intertextī hoplophobes. And so when the tractatrice à vagin soyeux, the oil-polished muscular mārgadarśaka offers, in his or her suave gracieuse voix, to help guide you in through vast gates of cheerful granite, botryoidal hematite, imperial grade porphyry and into a drinks room/pub espagnol known as the Agore Bar where you pause to glom leisurely a “Grifo ’Snob” (cocktail favored by the locals consisting of extracts of agaric [vellicative Phellinus pomaceus one finds growing on a tree or a log, not the hallucinative “crag-apple,” Amanita muscaria], mountain phlox et oiagroyoy grown on Mount Gimmor layered over agave, rice vinegar, civada (avena), and [parergorea garbled] essence of mandragora) and then out the back door passing knowingly through throngs, vaticinations, divine constellations of writhing lovers and the now well-acquainted pair or trio or quartet or etc. of you pitter-patters onto gründlichen Grundlagen of the Glo Bersh, a spacious “ballroom,” pube-spangled and well-padded, where not just on midsummer’s eve (gracias, I mean contra Grace Aviraga’s rant I’m able to glom precisely from le sac de coupures I’ve glommed hither from my Chicken Street studio into mon jardin de vicarage méditatif atop la Butte and beneath the garrulous green-feathered invaders from Wyoming the better to glom them thereby, por ejemplo) but all year round agony ends polyphonically, polymorphously, polysemously in the Cyrenian soteriology of Epicurean eschatology — into a vermilion, violet, viridian, and cerulean vision, thus, of the oh so earthy otherwordly splendors of the playground of taboo itself, do not think his or her jackdaw afflation tugging at your honor’s grunting splanchnocranial axis be but l’ivre agacerie of an impolite oxherd, vox philotechna philostorga philocala philosarca et praeterea nihil too expurgated of sense and substance to glom to your own intentional wharf’s ὄνειαρ (glyph of pleasure and profit), for you and they and we, of course, create, produce, and perform in the creation, production, and performance of the aforesaid desiderata — that is, we (despite a random glittering glamour girl’s glowering doubts) glom (blicken) sense and substance by glomming (blickend) whom gladly and what globally we have in the glomming (im Blicke) — skillfully, tenderly, beautifully, voluptuously! And so, while our long-lashed, superb mango-pooted Maryam, given to taciturn wrestling with dark pagan dosologies, administers GG’s ex fore vert-ruby ontalgia (common complaint of fat gauwdieveggetjes) un langoureux fesse-gorge, let us glom out of our own pro forma ego-garbed amour propre and into and onto and under our victuals, our drink(s), our tachy- and bradysphexi-tool(s) (and other machines of marimacho toil, expedients d’épicène), and our partner(s), and let every qualm go on the playful pitch (champ ludique de plaisir ou krīḍakṣetra, that is, not the poix [loessic tar] de la loi ex topho of quotidian sordidity) dove la sola regola è — rotatele ora, grondanti grovigli di Gorgone orgasmiche! perche to let taboo blossom gloriously forth like a bare-groined teddy bear groaning with all the sins and scents and sounds of the place, gravid with a palpitando soziofisiologico helix potentiated by the slightest touch we must thoroughly eglomerate its oeno- and oneiromachic glomeruli from out of its agglomerated schizomythic glomeribus!
§ 103 | ME
If I’m to believe a missive addressed to me by Mona Coltrane, managing editor of the Owlstain SCAT, the momentous, meticulous, multifarious method of my anfractuous, metamorphous, verse-spattered mind’s frolicsome scrambled matter is presently to be methodically presented in an article où j’intends to divulge (parce que depuis longtemps c’est mon rêve à émettre mes recherches mnésoclastiques au plus vaste publique) the efficaciously enmeshed, sometimes serendipitous, but always sensuous means of the erect, terse, sea-primed, Matisse-metered production (think still lifes of citrus fruits on floriferous plates, Mediterranean vistas seen through fenêtres drapées, timely cliffscapes of the timeless empire d’Étretat, self-possessed tempera ritratti of episteme sprites reading dans un coin pépère, smerdati studi di décolletées soubrettes à périmés dessous) of the boisterous, mellifluous, and sumptuously delirious meaning of my ever asterted emprise and which she’s assured me will receive an all-hands-to-the-watchtowers-speed traitement de texte et mise en page, but which will in all probability be most uglily mistreated presently by the crass members of that organ’s “Mutualité des Mesures Éditrices.” To judge by the concise masthead of the torn and otherwise useless, dirt-permeated issue I rolled up and used to swat sweat bees with during the crossing but saved nevertheless, ces parties de trémoussement rédactifouteur — ostensibly constrained by the SCATs ME, it’d seem — se répartissent into the following name-activity dyads — Mr. Gil Aire, édition; Mme. Rosa Barsombarsam, responsabilisation; Mrs. Esta Eloë, melos è artes; Ms. Aude Le Dumas, lecture; Mlle. Sana Smala, enluminement; M. Gille Vue, parution — of which none would appear to me to possess a sufficient ensellure, or be in command of an adequate cambrure, pour jouer, as it were, la contrepartie de mes subtilités madrées et provocatrices qui visent d’abord à m’effriter, et me dépasser ensuite. What do I mean? Mon procédé proceeds from l’idée Petra Smerstampfig instilled in us by the various empathetic and catch-all means of hetairotopian praxis I’ve touched on elsewhere to my stage, so to speak, in some sludge-, silt-, and slattern-hampered sere station littoralgique where I was forced to survive on saponaceous mealy neemom fruits and pestiferous mephitic fermented fish guts to that pilose plumose papillose corymbose mucose and yet all to no purposes moment when my partner in the infliction of pain on little animals in Agua Prieta deserts me for her alleged “sister” et Mr. Peatman Ceann-na-Cloinne and then as I’m running my sizzling lips, or at least contemplating the exquisite sensation that would be filling the three of us if I were indeed to do so, all over what’s her name — Catarata? Catamena? Ekaterina? — and her companion from neck to tail, they bid the driver stop in front of my bungalow and, sans dire mot à moi, push me out of the carriage and onto the dolomite road, muculent and murky from a recent downpour, that leads through le Bois de Boulogne from le Rond des Mélèzes to wit, one’s memory does not traipse Dermestes-like through the corpse of one’s past comme certains écrivains du genre Proust, Vila-Matas, et al. imagine the trite or contrite or catoptrite dream’s espejo espectral traipses Demeter-like from sleep into waking with minimally randomized anamorphoses such that, viz., following the arduous mediation of the saprophagous merciless libre arbitre’s mandibles combined with the judicious employment of adventitious mechanisms of noumenal digestion and decomposition, the whole glowing skeleton of one’s past looms into view à la Hérodote, immaculate, reset, dermis-pared, homogeneous, emmetropically plausible as ex vivo mementos embellishing les demeures torviplanes of the decussate mitred present with factitious Menhits, bogus Mehet-Werets, sham Meskhenets, imitation Mestis, and spurious Medjeds but it’s actually the case that, given the plural nature of Venturi’s Pleroma, there’s all manner of scattered partes semioticas and discrete desires tramping all over a multiplicity of pathways throughout the abstruse nemoral vipaṇa (विपण) of the oneirophane so that the pluralistic erratic anarchic particularistic and problematic tamanegi (玉葱) (if we’ve correctly fathomed the anastomotic geometry of Laver’s Entropium) of one’s fractious frabjous être teems disparately dans l’atomisme schizomythique with which dream pesters iteratively and piecemeal our disjointed liminalities (and this is where la Maîtresse der petzlicher Auslassungen so often intrudes), such that, e.g., the clastic manatee cavorting in the wake of your agrypnophanerotic frigate is a spawn, not of Neptune’s viral море (sea), but of narrative’s pulmonei mores, and thus the mnemonic process, likewise, is more akin to how a fungal spore siderates tempestuously the body of the ant it’s infected, said defunct ant’s shell of fractured chitin now functioning as a sort of recombinant laboratory in which the parasite, remade, prestructures les symbioses morphologiques des chimères mnémogènes proliferating throughout the nettlesome mnesophane in which the dispersed matter, energy, and entropy of discorporate Demeter trip assurgently over ripe ascomata and basidiomata which burst open in an explosive cloud of spores instigating a whole new wave of parasitic “entamassements” (entassements d’entamures) the point being that endogenous, spontaneous, “genuine” memory is as much an invention, an assemblage, a fiction as dream is, and is, therefore, highly amenable to the sorts of procédé my initially dissociative, but ultimately exuperative mnemonoclastic project employs such that presently Mr. Gil Aire ensures d’abord que my manuscript’s modi rhetorici firmi are legible but then, struck by a cantankerous megrim — “Aï!” — relegates les mesures éditrices qui doivent se suivre to his ad interim “girl,” Aemira Lerge, inconnue à la Mutualité, who nevertheless retape, redit, mêle fond subtil grimé à rêve sur le trépied strésemannien à Paris avec la forme délirée, marginale que Mr. Gil Aire exacted with his basic blue pencil in Owlstain then slips it through the flume, raie, grille or whatnot of the ME’s door but as for this latter, elle est parti des remises en vacances avec Skid déjà whereupon Mme. Rosa Barsombarsam responsibly retrieves the typescript but then not so responsibly bars some rambling clauses which, far from detracting from my expositio, serve rather to emboss, armar, ramasser, mobiliser my rara ars’s more ambitious periods and Mlle. Sana Smala enlivens a small enquiry into whether or not the author in question’s phrasal maleness betrays a female’s languorous need to elicit, by any and all means necessary, the transvestite reader’s empathy by passing around a small engraving she’s currently working on illustrating the time Adam Trembart impressed a teenaged prodigium parvum on Aseli per trattarlo con garbatezza and Ms. Aude Le Dumas literatim et verbatim replaces a tried-and-true formula — désuète perhaps but hardly a lame dusius textus — with a much abused malapropistical commonplace, a more unusual démodé impedimentum litterarium sed lumarium with the all-too usual mediocri locutione, complaining marginally to M. Gille Vue, parution, that, “since the complicated concept, sir, deters meaning, I have made everything as simple, overt, unarguably clear as possible” whereupon said M. Gille Vue pokes sa vile plume gazetière into the margins of the proofsheets, longing, no doubt, to pump live gleaming lapsus digiti linguae mentulae into the evocative lump leggy Ms. Aude Le Dumas lewdly displays dans l’entrecuisse of her constrictive plum leggings and Mrs. Esta Eloë inflicts some last ereptive emendations thereon, therein, but mostly therefrom, and, in the absence of the bosses, shows them to our pal de summi boni, Adam, le surveillant d’our insular ébats of yore who, pleased, permits tremulous Mrs. Esta Eloë to pass them on along with the monthly payment to the printer the result being that, in the issue at hand, the clause where I’m referring to, for instance, “the anastomotic geometry of Laver’s Entropium” now reads as “Ravel’s Prout in e-minor,” as does “écrivains du genre Proust, Vila-Matas, et al.;” likewise, “the plural nature of Venturi’s Pleroma” reads as “the adventuresome rival plain chant;” “highly amenable to the sorts of procédé,” as “the sort of panty mêlée men pay to see;” “le Rond des Mélèzes,” as “le lieu où tu me lèses,” and so on, making me sound like some sort of deranged music critic or one of your more adept, seamier streetwalkers suffering, soit from brainstem errancy, soit d’une manie to hogtie amnestic tame animals (sodomized manatees who’ve eaten mermaids drunk on alcoholized Amanita muscaria being a favorite) rather than the even-tempered, strastïe (impassioned) promiscuous textualist and très remarqué(e), mnemonoclastic, dream-steeped strīpuṃsa (स्त्रीपुंस) I am!
§ 104 | Mes
Once, with the late Ms. Slimani over the pedals, me nasty-niched on the handlebars, and on the saddle behind some nameless dainty playmädel, sapient synapsid pearlescent and fey, satin maillot mantling sa moelleuse flamme à vison lisse, high-glamour velo-sprite manifestly reveling in the goose provocatrice her loose perch blessed her pars perineum volatile (sic) with (for, yes, it was she who had recently discovered her brown-limbed power to arouse men experimentally), we realized, as slim Ms. Slimani’s overworked thighs pumped up and down between us, qu’un petit peloton pegroso (bum pack of scoundrels) of about sept amorous ex-encarcelados, all local males nail-bitingly lured out by our little troop’s amène exubérance, had attached itself, comme cette “chaîne interminable et tremblante de souvenirs” which attached itself to the “bec aimanté” Verne, Proust, Vila-Matas, Mendès, Pliny, et al. spanned my simile with by means of their own “plume magique,” to our three-on-a-bike manège (the future author of A Splined Amnesty, I recall, was absent that evening, as was poor Seoste who had, along with our usual extemporaneous impetus pedum velocium, Harpo, gone bumpsadaisy the day before and both were thus too pro tem sore for trudging around à vélo) as we passed out of Mastersheen proper and into the narrow cobbled ox track at the end of which a thin bright arceau moon set expressionistically over the dim dell of indigenous Michimaki oaks, Aneides aeneus, Choleoepus, Xeromantispa, and mélèzes d’Appalache (Appalachian larch) whither we were bent like Erewhon nixies moyennant Eros’ mou expédient on taking a nighttime soak in a kamenolomne pokinutoy, as one called, selon l’essai ramené ou ex post facto prose of my loose project of mnemonoclasis which has just now, after poking out briefly to set a spontaneous, miscellaneous, extraneous mot experimentally on the tip of my farouche Stresemann fétiche and limn, thus, its autonome expérience (for that is what la maïeutique, thodique, dialectique, und sehr fatidique root means: expérience — experiment!), retreated back to the safety of its testudineous oxter, empathically having sensed the nearness of Dame-Slut Reality’s amenaza medusal, puisque, pour les beaux mnésoprotes comme nous, qui ont posé méreaux sur l’ondoyante marelle axée où sont permis tous les jeux qui donnent de la grâce, de l’attrait, du charme à nous, “to experiment” means to pore exuperably over each perilous méat proxénète which that cryptic raptorial reduviid dont j’ai fait le dévoilement supra, Reality, spends maniacal, manipulative, manifold energy on trying to conceal after s/he’s transfixed with his or her proboscoid lambative excarnificative extravasative spear ex motu notre plus obscure pensée, most pure axonal keepsake, tender tectorial souvenir trempé du suc thalamocorticale translucide in order to filch therefrom her vile plagiaries, while other autóctonos mature experimentalists in, on, around, of, and with the magic sesame of memory, such as, for instance, Mastersheen’s own “grand être sensé,” Hamilcar “Shree” Amnestia — no man to use “experiment” in any docile mainstream sense — rather choose to engage in their own opertaneous “Om” (ॐ, ௐ)-Experiments with Truth, in which the loose, problematical, araneous term exposes, possibly, a secret mechanism of conceptual capture wherein obstinate seizure and insouciant letting go, acceptance and rejection, knowledge and ignorance are all trapped like miserable flies awaiting the sublime spider’s delectation while that “grown-at-home Texane Proust,” O. Welles, in his urbane, torous “Me”-Experiment in Autobiography, means our mot “experiment” in a lithe sense marvelously analytical, though no less rotundly idiosyncratic and Y. W. Dunne, in his delusive, slim, onanistic, and ridiculous tome, An Experiment with Time, uses the most technique-prone, most exacting, most down-to-earth sens mesquin de transchronaux termes opérationnels to discuss abstract qualia such as that same silvery bright, thin-slivered arceau moon set expressly there in the western ciel de Lutèce not par les dérives du temps foutu, but by devious mad elegant Lady Reality’s crepuscular venal impostures at the far end of a narrow cobbled lane I’m descending from la Butte with my impedimenta textuoriorium exactly like that Appalachian ox track of yore down which the three of us were riding, not to quelque parc, jardin, ou cimetière wherein to underscore mit meine wählerische Stresemann and correlate avec mon érane mss. the rampant errata in that divulgatory article of mine Mona finally sent me a month after publication but to take a nighttime soak in a kamenolomne pokinutoy, as one called an abandoned quarry in that watery region of Appalachia, and we realized that nos culs aimantés y saisirent, so to speak, a randy septet of vespertinal males who were not ex-osmapustomeli at all, but rather, as it turned out, one was a vigoroso peasant simply, endearingly, rustically plying a wooden-framed “Furor Strong” draisienne (lady-stampeded dandy horse of yore), another an oloroso ephebe on Sr. Memó Rabasa’s “Medalist” penny-farthing, a third a rigoroso pedagogue on a petite reine most parvularios of the region were in the habit of riding, a fourth a tenebroso opera singer on a repurposed michaudine baudelairienne originally manufactured for M. Orsini of Oxenshire, Wyoming, a fifth a doloroso epornithologist on Pedersen’s “Onyx Moiré” whippet, a sixth a lloroso epitaphist on a fold-away Johnson “Bumpa-Groper” (il y a de l’argotique abus on “pompe à grippe”) that kept closing ou ouvrant plis mérétriceusement each time he applied the brakes parce qu’il n’avait malencontreusement pas verrouillé (“groped [grippé]”) les charnières de sa “pompe,” and the seventh, an amoroso poet on a, like us, bluish-toned vintage “Moser’s Mamba” roadster or formulaic coaster-braking city bike was the only one able to keep up with us after we’d crested the final hill and Ms. Slimani’s evolatic feet slipped off the pedals and she straddled the top tube and I, toujours notre σμερδαλέοῦ totem serré, notre σμήρισματῐκοῦ charme, stretched my naked toes forward and my bare head back and our velo-sprite maniacally screamed astern and we let plummet our senex opafiets down towards the drink and it struck us, after the epitaphist had gropé son bump-away, the epornithologist spanned le myalgique treillis of his whippet, the opera singer exonéré his Wyominian michaudine, the pedagogue put several omnirhizomatous straps around and through the frame of his petite reine, the ephebe neatly dansé simperingly down from his high-saddled penny-farthing, the peasant se despegó por manubrio de su draisienne, and the poet, already tipsy, leaned mansuettement his and Ms. Slimani’s vélos together rather than provisat leur embobinable béquille, it struck us that, really, we had nothing to be afraid of, since even though we had been interned in Steen’s Harem for only a month or so, we had already gleaned enough of Petra Smerstamp’s Phryne’s moxie, won, innocent though we might seem, enough mêlées splendides of whole-body backgammon, yoni-rixes whelming les échauffourées pexomantiques to know that, by confronting them always with la pliante masse dynamique du gorgone boum sapphique of our triguṇa maikos’ ekatva, and thus never losing hapto-visual contact with each other, we, as a masse solidaire of downy minxes, hiérodules amphibies, idoines kāmakārakas, devadasis plenty enmarbled with the relevant savoir-faire, could use them as our men to experiment in, with, around, and on. And so the first thing we did after stripping off our diminutive maillots in the twilight was to link elbows and knees and bare my baubo to get the measure of their cocksureness, and then we were to give a brief primer on the hydraulico-concupiscent possibilities my curious plumbing promised the adventurous sublittoralist, and then demonstrate to them the principle that spintheric potential is directly proportional to sphincteric pressure which latter increases, like gravity, with the inverse square of the distance between any two bodies, and therefore, given that the lattice of lasciviency, the matrix of impudicity we had before us, sirs, involved dimensionalities not merely bi-vectorial, but factorially heptatriptotic, the quotients of delectation of the combinations we intended to, in our aqueous monta, experimentally inflict on these vigorous, odoriferous, rigorous, tenebrious, dolorous, amorous, morose oxen, permutate, invert, transpose, or outflank them with were simply mind-bogglingly ramous et exponentiels, but what I recall is not what we’d planned but some sort of relay race heading, not down to our own rocky little secret murky and icy at first, Raum-envelopingly limpid and warm after, ukiyo (浮世, “Welt als Schwimmen und Schweben,” as that averti, dégourdi, inassouvi mako-sneak, Asura oxywhoresinne [I’m citing the bitch’s less distaff paratype here] imitatively filched from the holographic transcription of our favorite ontonatatologist’s proto-senimalistic Urtext I was engaged in pendant my Aseli sojourn [e.g., “In der Ufereisenschwimmen oder Nichtufereisenschwimmen seiner Stelle mit der Windigkeit, blättert seine Wahnkeit oder Fahlkeit” (op. cit., § 8.6)] and then patched into ditto’s earlier bibliography) but back uphill and involving, thus, a lot of mounting and riding, and dismounting and walking, and mounting and riding again such that the peasant’s vile roue rampante m’éstompe while the opera singer m’étouffe avec ses genoux emportés à toute outrance, and then the opera singer’s pesante roue moxibustible m’embrase while the ephebe’s arms roam all over my zona litoris, and then the ephebe’s roue monstre, expansible, frénétique m’éclabousse while the epitaphist m’enroule par voies et par chemins, par monts et par vaux, and then the epitaphist’s proteiform roue pliante svolge, svergina, svampa, svincola, sviene, e prima che si sveglia the pedagogue intromits his menopome’s tenax roue’s mantled synapse into my eudoxome’s roue patente while the epornithologist m’écrabouille au bec avec son incursax ému néo-ptéroglossien bout de cadeau, and finally the solemn poet’s roue exauçante m’énfonce while the pedagogue et son ému paroxysme ex Hōroi winnow the buxom air of dawn, and as the poet, the pedagogue, the epornithologist, the ephebe, the opera singer, and the peasant (the epitaphist being still unconscious) kiss maillot-less me, “Au revoir, bonne journée!” in front of the gate to Steen’s Harem, I look up to see a speeded-up moon reset exasperatingly full — exasperating since not only had both mes collègues de koinonia, maikos ἀκένωτᾱ vanished, but so too had a fourteen-leaf chunk of the page-a-day diary for the relevant (maintenant moins dix-huit) year and so I’d say to those who’d expiate mon âme or therapize my smara: these are not συμπτώματα fugarum genialium you’re observing, sirs, but excoriations, exfoliations, exlecebrations of my curriculum, my codex, my librarium vitarum. Speaking of which, it seems that the nameless vixen whose yoni I’m recalling dans ce moment à ruse expoliatrice borrowed it to sketch in, and then returned it, sans les dites pages — I look up to see a speeded-up moon reset exasperatingly full in the western sky beyond the town, the taller, further roofs getting their first dusting of écumante Eos’ poreux pollen, but the river beyond still ensevelie in Nyx’s whore-mongering cagoule as well as the forest and the abandoned quarry where a month or so later a body of some nympha rivularis, minx noyée who’s wearing nothing but an amulet tied to her neck, would be found.
§ 105 | Eeticade
Just as a Fescennine lamb’s simulated climax douses the dazzle-horned ritual display of a conceited ram’s edacity, I’m now naturally enough noticing that the mysterious dexterities of oneirophanic apperception (OA) with which nous autres matois mnémoclastes elude the twee-tittied, embracive poultices Dame Reality, in a “Now-my-little-children” moment asilaire, would swaddle and smother our ancillary apparitional ontologies (AO) with, reducing them to nothing more than an obscure deceit’s armless hallucination (and us, thus, to an inarticulately plate idée’s armchair dupes — which antilogous obligation (AO) to stoop to being a mere multiply-vexed, soupçonneusement over-and-under-sexed source for that pantomimetical bitch’s ontic appropriations (OA) we are loath to accept since the singularly real ukiyo (浮世) I want mnemonoclastically to foment as I eigenhändically, eigentlisciously inhabit it, is far more colorful, though possibly more disquieting, than its remade ceraceous eirenic taupe-stained genyo (幻世)-twin imaginarily peopled with toy phantoms eilig angefertigten von the aforesaid Frau Toreindringen), have caused Salamis’s being to get mixed sournoisemantically up with that of some other and possibly anónima orfanita’s emollescently orgasmic (in the Larmarckian sense — “Il est certain que parmi les parties solides et intérieures des animaux, celles qui sont souples sont animées, pendant la vie, d’un orgasme ou espèce d’éréthisme particulier qui leur donne la faculté de s’affaisser et de réagir aussitôt, lorsqu’elles reçoivent quelque impression. [...] L’orgasme des parties souples et intérieures des animaux concourt, plus ou moins, à la production des phénomènes organiques de ces corps vivants; il y est entretenu par un fluide (peut-être plusieurs) invisible, expansif et pénétrant, qui traverse avec une certaine lenteur les parties qui en jouissent, et produit en elles la tension ou l’espèce d’éréthisme que je viens de citer. L’orgasme qui résulte de cet état de choses dans les parties, s’y maintient, pendant la durée de la vie, avec une énergie d’autant plus grande, que les parties qui l’éprouvent ont une disposition et sont d’une nature qui s’y trouvent plus favorables, et qu’elles ont plus de souplesse et sont moins desséchées” [J.-B. Lamarck, 1809, Philosophie zoologique, seconde partie, chapitre IV].) organism as I blend, here on my magically paramnestionative Tetrastic tomaseni where I meditate between the aozora (青空) above and the aoba (青葉) of young (aoi, 青い) grass below, the evergreen nīlarasa (नीलरस) of ladite Salamis’s einbildungskräftige aoume (青梅) with the, comme on dit dans notre érudit argot, senimalistic sumi (墨) flowing from the precise, made-to-order bec of my bigarré affûtiau in order to etch the resultant aquamarine aozumi (青墨) of remembered eta (穢多)-titillations into the swimmingly selenian margins of the Chicken Street “dream-scientific” practice with which Pedro tira una escurrida, entorpecida apnea stimolante dalla zona sublitoranea I’m ostensibly keeping in reserve until my own intimate ammonite’s Albian seism shall cause it to protrude an inch or an ictus or a rude interval further into the conjectured noria de recuerdos azulejos such that dark Slimane’s bituminously limnological aoni (青丹) eats omnivorously into the pale parenchyma of thin Sabine’s limpid liminal aoshirotsurubami (青白橡) in less time than drowsy Isabel’s minute mineralized mušiao (虫襖) mentally takes to flash open and reveal a gushingly vivid glimpse of heathen Milena’s sibilant sibylline usuao (薄青) spurting forth under the clamoring pressure of mystical Mabel’s insistently insipid aotake-iro (青竹色) and turning over on its convex sudogha (सुदोघ) back to facilitate the angle of approach du pas trop bête diamètre titubant of divinely massive Sima’s belinographically belinurian aonibi (青鈍) as smelly Albine’s mist-enveloped, pubens, similative aokuchiba (青朽葉) teeter — timed to perfection by the slant art inured odalisques employ on, in, and for such oblique occasions — on the brink of falling into the tremulous abyss of a special, a very special variety of counterfeit climax used only by the most gaga, most enigmatic of wild-in-the-woods but shy-in-town maikos. Now, granted our interest in such sociophysiological phenomena as, viz., a young (aoi, 青い) pretty woman initiating — à la for instance la crème-distendue voix of Ms. van Deux; Sor Berta Mite-Eidétique’s provocative triplet of, while taking an animated bite, retentively cupping a young (aoi, 青い) breast as she fixes doubtful defiant eyes on you; or even the divinest moaning aoi (青い) twin nymphets moaning, scared, meeting some antic terse maiden-munching wild-haired denizen of the forest in the calm glad glade between glockenspiel and gloom whom or which it would be all too easy to blame sinister disappearances on and so we will not — a sociophysiological encounter that promises to mediate bitter effluentia memoriae with a better amie, better diet, better sleep, better future, better fouterie, better undsoweiter, has not waned so much as our attention to seemingly peripheral matters has waxed soulfully enormous, it would not be beyond the argumentum ad lapidemest reach of recollective chance and narrative necessity that Salamis’s benignly beautiful burgher’s daughter’s body (in stark contrast to her father’s frankly rather malignant esprit bourgeois that saw, à travers la grille d’une jaundiced master-esclave “logique” by which all complexities, all polynomial conjunctions of tawny minions deteriorate, nudity in man-woman dyads only, never any other quantity or combination — we therefore thank her remote insatiable mother who did not disdain la mode alors of cloistering the more fetching spawn of her set dans les espèces d’ermitage fantasmé receding beyond a screen of the region’s endemic Asterea tribes and assorted dim trees [Acer, Quercus, Salix, Sudeoksa, Populus, Ulmus, Exoditis, Pinus, et Alia spp.]) has, in the process of fulfilling Osiris’s aim, blended not only with supra, but also with those species of premature or indolently self-indulgent “moist anemones,” “moites naïades,” etc. Me. Robert “I’m-a-tête-édifiante-d’Auntie-R.” Robert, in his obscene op. cit., smeared edaciously all over the ectoplasmic être édénique of my ecumenical encounters with him he recounts having taken place, soit in the back room of the Dirna Route Café in Owlstain during one of the randier tours de cartes (“rubbers”) of Tradine Oru which, despite the circumstantial details he limns into his égrillardes pages, I do not recall at all, nor do I accept the slot he assigns me in his ungirt rondeau of “gromowïy innatists,” soit more recently here in the ersatz Mochicano-Cupisnique café up the street I’m scared of going back to ever since that morning when the coincidence of my absence therefrom with the disappearance of a fancy brace of emceed Ritas or a niminy-piminy twain of baited Mercesdans le Bois” as reported in that morning’s Matin Osé was remarked upon par les causeurs au comptoir, les baratineurs aux tables d’à côté, les jacasseurs aux chiottes — “Moi, navrant(e) navajista,” I interject and rise from my troisième calvados, deuxième café, et premier flux dospassionnel du jour with all the feline phlebismian lesteté a trim biederes erethistical textworker comme moi manifests when irked, “d’enfants? Moi, effréné(e), pâmoisant(e) assassin(e) de minettes, moi!? — An infatuated swooner, yes, possibly a proleptic, sylleptic, thymoleptic swain — I’m Tony’s minable, abominable, interminable śiṣ (शिष्या), his high highness of hyperverbalism’s niece, after all! — mais meurtri-è-re? Jamais! Je ne suis, meussieudames,” I sit back down and begin calmly capping and folding and assembling my materia textoria und rearranging my excitedly beunruhigte coiffure, “qu’un clitalysateur ordinaire de moi-même, qu’une, if you will, scriptolectrice a medesima stessa, c’est-à-dire, un(e) mettueureuse en série de mactantium animalculorum animarum meorum afin d’y trouver la prose à minoteries picaresques d’étirées machinations schizomythiques qui m’arrivent presque chaque jour — et voilà une de trop!” And with that, I scoop up my armamentarium and scoot out le plus étroit des deux ostioles and have never deigned grace that establishment’s texticidal pègre with my magnetically majestic presence and personality and stylo à plume since.
§ 106 | AO
“Far be it for me to criticize, Mona, yearning as I am for nothing,” I begin my reply to that effacée editrix’s enclosed addendum to my packet of author’s copies of the SCAT she sent me containing ma pièce détaquée, détaroquée, détallée, détalonnée par that organ’s assembly of literary eviscerators, “so much as a forum exposant eenmalig l’idée catégorique que j’ai cédée tegelijk à l’evidence de mes sens (waarnemingen — you will better understand my Dutch precision if you follow our mutual institution’s lexical ecology and actually read [but you’re not one to temporize, Mona, are you?] les deux articles Dr. L. Kaiser a publiés — ‘Poging tot omlijning eener sociophysiologie’ [Mensch en maatschappij, 1946] and ‘Naar een stichting voor sociophysiologie’ [Medisch Contact, 1952] — même avant celle-là que Perec a tièdement écrite vingt ans plus tard, ‘Lire: esquisse socio-physiologique’) et à la nécessité edace, teorica, e determinata a dare senso ai sensi sentiti, id est, que l’antinomie ontique (AO) que la clitalyse a suppléée, a agréée, a délinéée dictates that an antic ontology (AO) must inhere in any objective altarian subjectivities (OAS) we might bring, ita athletice ut poetice, ad exegesem memoriae, prout one’s ex mirando θραύμᾰτῐ somnii recalled when one encounters its copy in ‘real life’ is less like a prophetic aedeagus of Dunnean time socraticizing the ovipore’s monte exaucée of perception and more like a platonic idea eternally awaiting an exact musical moment ou exaspérante interstice aèdétique to rouse itself from its indécidé état d’incorporéité acédique por ensebandose, so to speak, into the extemporaneously hapax, torose, enumerative riff which has been fermenting in you, the freemartin improvisor, yeastlike, for a lifetime and thus la vera κλᾰ́σῐς de la mnésique monade citée dans the facetious mean trope expressing your ‘joie Sayréenne’ anent my project of ‘smashing the monads of memory’ (sic) has nothing at all to do with, for instance, some adept from Assyria, zona emerita wo die Schwänze are moyiled un die Yonim are zəanu, blessing a new dwelling by smashing a kumkum-farced and camphor-inflamed ash gourd on its threshold, nor with a gaggle of Gargarean libertines wagging their fingers to the intricacies of a Scythian gamaka Οἰόρπατα maidens beat out on their ghavals while roasting hemp in that distinctive species of glass-bodied gālyān Azeri ōmeyōllohqueh are wont to diddle dildo ditto with, nor even young primates grinding blissfully against smooth-barked birch-trunks, though this latter does come closest to the metaphor I’m articulating to assert, or asserting to articulate, with all the rigor I’m able to muster, the endeavor I’m assigning myself to accomplish. Furthermore, Mona, pues extrínseca a mis indagaciones por aberraciones berappten von unserer zany Ami(e) Ontique who tries to make you believe you’re in a maze you can’t get out of by papering over the gaps with postiche posters enlarged from the relentless succession of tossings and turnings welling up from your own agitated engagement with the inhabited world, your suggestion that I contribute some sort of Morleyesque narratio viatica Lutetiae décrivant my ‘topical rambles à travers la Lutèce idéaliste;’ that I write, that is, a weekly column doing for this city what the well-established ‘B. Rao Pense’ does for Owlstain, its coast, its mountains, its ho-hummery, and whatnot, is equally anathema to me, though I admit that, yes, I arouse, I really do, even the meanest roué, poxed and Pharaonic, opal-tie-pinned and blasé, with such charming pensieri as you single out for praise, viz., ‘On avait, au bout de l’impasse de la Gaîté, cédé au chant des sirènes au Potomex, boîte à décevance vaseuse où on mange un rance Croque Señor Empatxó pendant qu’une pataugisante glabréité de caduques Suissesses, like some decrepit cloacal canticoy of Gersema’s oxen, proutent dans la fange devant toi...’ — its or their similarities to a piece appearing in the issue of París oye, París ve put out here the same week mon étude que ta mutualité en ton absence a éditée crapuleusement was published in your paper there serving but to prove my case, as does the following bit of vers relativement libre since I know that, for you, Mona, terse expression is all, form incidental:
While green parrots in the poignant chaos preen,
a b
lue ara in Oz, Yemeni city
ere Amazoni
a the Javari yeoman
d, sobs a ‘prenez-garde’ au hadım (epicene
cubicularium) du gynécée,
dit a
ussi harmón, i.e., záyin
(זַיִן אָסוּר) in ref. to Arjuna’s anni
eunuchini (terms used by the goyim
are zena
na, seraglio, lupanar, etc.);

aidé(e) par cette sparkling composure an external
view of ourselves tends to lend to nous autres mnésoclastes;

et quoique je vois
mon traité décervelé par tes bourreaux,
mes ponto-e
-vírgulas exponctués
par tes miteux protes, Mona, et mon encre
velouteuse, Mona, expropriée
par des blancs, des bévues, des balourdises,

I continue with my project anyway parce que
ce n’est pas qu’on aspire à s’y oublier,
ni que la défendue luzerne y a amoindri
l’émerveillée décision de se faire ravir
encore par la mémoire de cet ancient stand
of endemic oak, oiseaux bleus, and
amphisbènes parousiens des filles d’Harmonie

while a brazen moai eyes, his taboo záyin
ld and erect, the ribald scene
from his ahu in the aspen-robed hills
and green parrots in the poignant chaos preen beautifully.”

§ 107 | Extemporaneous
Despair teems terribly,” Ms. Petra prates monotonously yet melodiously on with her song-and-verse edicta monumentaria, “with deceit, smears shit on the ancient beautiful tapestries, merde dans l’enceinte situationniste où concrete desire emparts (sic) sourire-petted Messalina’s emotional depth to the verträumtete reader’s spiritual need (sic), and so when we came upon Château de Pont-Chaponchat, we took it upon ourselves to have recourse to one of the more bemired castes as well as the buoyant “mini-works” (opuscula) — Περι δερματε της συναισθησεως των ονειρων δυρατων, Ο φωστηρ τρεμη ες παιδας συνοδ’ τ’ εραστης, Περι μεθης, inter alia — of the Alexandrian Philo to exorcise the many tamasic phantoms of unhappy harems past — tired, eerie, venal — lingering about the place in order to transform what had been just another transpontine Masonic lieu de stupre where the impurest demi-mondaine mostra, in exchange for an urgent fistful of base turpins, su λείᾱ monstruosa à quelque fétide mec sarcoptique into the freest, prudentest, purest pedophrastic παιδαγωγεῖον mastoc, grandest gynophilial γῠμνᾰ́σιον téméraire where, par moyen d’une sagace variété de βρώμᾰσῐν τερπνοῖς (our resident nutritionist, Dr. Jehoshaphat ibn-Alessi, mandates, par exemple, qu’entre chaque rive agaçante, the cultivated escrimeur shall partake of une petite salade des feuilles de Gnemon, satinleaf fruits, and aster pollen, followed by an invigorating salep of Gnemon, Astilbe, Massini’s bindweed (Convolvulus massinii), and other eudaemonic seeds to rejuvenate the tense nerve Agacinski calls ‘la bagace viragoraculaire’), an endless array of leather and latex ὅπλοις, as well as a methodically on-pitch, panoptic syllabus, the most sure-πτερωτός Vismesian libertine somatosensorially and totally gratuitement matriculates à la Marcueil a never-before-attempted série sarceuse, sarcodique, sarcotique et même narcotique of top-notch apprenti(e)s and top-hat concubines — Slimane whose blain is menseless, for instance, Seoste O. of the uncomfortable osteochondral ostiole, submissive Graça de la vaga recíproca, cute Orinda R. of the rotund rainure adroite, petite Berta médiévale dont l’intime ébat te détirera most inespérément out of your effete tabid eremitical torpor, débridée Tessa trempée de foutre, de sang, de sueur” — no, my never-tepid Stresemann interjects, this is not the overheated crime scene it might seem, reader, pistic and punctilious though you be, but merely one of the many supreme side-acts of a sublime desecration the aforementioned devadasis ere temptresses et moi, sanguine, stomato-senimalistic, nemato-sialorrhoetic, kaleidosexual gastropod exsugendi demonstrate our τοξοφίλησεως for our matriculators with “while other Saint-Greluchon patrons de notre pornotopie,” Ms. Petra detersively parries the supple nib I’m assiduously intertexticulating her with, “chant operatically avec leurs voix pléthoriques in quartal harmony, waiting each for his or her own lusty wanton imitative Graça” (never one — my pasquinade-, my foucade-, my toquade- et boutade- et turlupinade-pétri Stresemann simply cannot resist! — to deprive a garce or garçon of his or her grâce avide) “rééditée Berta, timadora Tessa” — ripe, determined already (as my Diké-imparted Stresemann feels compelled to add) to make of herself la sybarite bête médiatrice between the system’s raped tiers état and its pâmée, périmée, rétamée tête tribadique de criminels basochards — “cute Orinda, restitched Seoste, our lady of the sublime resplendent pubis Slimane,” or me, strangely sad, as my épaté, gâté, frelaté, raté, déprimé Stresemann creeps atramentally in, sitting here su l’éprise tempête sardanapalesque of my tomaseni in my bête-et-tribade-immersed psittæremophilous jardin de vicarage au centre de París mesteña/o [good title for a book] as if — she? he? it? — were some instantaneous bath poncif in which, as I sit here straddling mis fuertes artes’ impedimentorum dont le Textgerät, bête d’imités abîmes aussi, reflects within its estimé cadre of memory and marginalia, comme je dirai, my own intrinsic vair, agenouillé(e) as I am in my aoi (青い) haori (羽織) cinched over a midori (緑) kosode (小袖), Xuriella-spattered, remise à la main, and condignly loose, tenuously tossed over a loose teal gavraćieśāta (नागव्रचिएशात), ὁι λεπτοξύστῐκοί ῥηξίψαλμοί of past, present, and future rain down on, or up into, me such that Pedro, rutinariamente tirando, eructando, errando, utilizando my sociophysiological network of Laodicean amity in Owlstain, arranges the welcome-back party for me, not in the back room of the Dirna Route Café, nor upon Château Methuen’s ample terroir de natur, nor even on Glamporium’s Playground of Taboo, but in Aseli, bismillahim wa illiyot wa mininei, dove un sbaglio oscuro di Renata triggers a violent erethism in Ilesa beyond even my in-town imagining because il futuro ne dira rien d’outrageant salvo un sbaglio rettificato, un ridere che si riride, embêté, tâtonnant nel sabir étêté, demi-teinté d’esperis tremanti che mi kuroi (黒い) and aoi (青い) čitose ame (千歳飴)–striped Stresemann falls back on faute de mieux as it runs out of ink unable, in Miss Park’s choreological sense, to withstand the inexorable brochure-adotrinado juggernaut of Ms. Petra’s détiré exposé which, combined with l’école d’houri’s monetary policy (free to a vaterlos קדשה of a widowed koine mastroquière comme moi) convinced ma mère to convince Lamia’s one-time admirer, Sešet-petting Sri Tony Miwa, instituteur privé à gâché(e)s rejetons aimé(e)s, to lead us past the musical serveuse, doxy des widerhallendes Psalmes, binioutiste suprème rencontrée dans quelque transpontin troquet de raccroc phantomatique du Bois vers quelque espèce d’érastimulant Saint-Greluchon “patrons of which chant operatically avec leurs voix pléthoriques in quartal harmony, waiting each for his or her own lusty wanton imiko (忌み子) to complement ἰσοἀγαπητῐκῶς in the downy intimacies of his or her own μισητῶν Augen les autres indompté(e)s adeptes mirrored there en la distante pared mit Sr. Steen (nostra père d’estime, notre philosophastri de mécène, unser amphitryon, ami, twinkling twinling-lover) and his unsurpassable nimiety reflejando horny corny (as his favorite pupils know him by) Cornelis’s abîmée pantelante σύμπνοια μνῆστῐκή reflétant the lavish havoc phantasmagorical crass brash (as his even more favorite pupils know him even better by) Asher stages for us reflektierend the exquisite monads wonderfully explosive (as his most favorite pupils know him best by) explicit Cees dreams of in the chaotic, phonatoire, vivax, pornochoristic, holy, hetairodox partouze of our trained thoroughly, our tried naturally, our bas-bleu, franc-jeu (jamais hors-jeu), torride, and oneiraturé harem.”
§ 108 | Topchan
I now propose ostensibly to parcel out, in all the various archaic, allusive, excecate senses ensuant therefrom (recall, for instance, that primordial schlauchförmige cameo-spurt exonerated à l’avance which anadyomène Eros xupatea from Gaia-lush Clotho’s spinning reel of sacred roulette and which obélismène Atropos exulcerates avant même que televisual Lachesis has had a chance to measure it), a sort of fila chulastica, less d’Ariane and more à la Tlaatlata, of particolored vota, exprès nouements giving us possibly a more omnipresent access enseguida à l’hétérodoxe partouse mnésique wohin mein Gedächtnis lucha alegremente a tal lattaio punto che, mentre che un oleoso probing paradisiac hallux tears open émoustillantes essences celées dans the dehiscent, sea-senescent epicarp of an uplandish Clusia alba fruit that’s drifted all the way from the rude shores, opossum-haunted y Lestoros-poetizados, de la Isla Chuchita to the coypu-and-condom-infested berges de la Seine, l’autre expose nombreux (because like quelque monstrueux énorme pastophorical hoopoe’s arum extending its obscene sensate eschatological lush aromatic spadix out past the everted labia of its lurid spathe, it plays a faucal shill’s game avec le cligne-musetteux trou pâmé en oestre au bout de son usé mocassin) calli au shoving and shouting pullulant populo prolétaire (PPP) qui est toujours en train de balocher entre Rochechouart et la Butte Mont-Marat où mon sexe périlleux se pétille à l’affût et se chatoie en acechando the taut, the fraught, the raucous moment’s puerae oxymorae atqui oxyporae with whom your pointilleux, your vétilleux, your minutieux mnésoprote aspires to cull haisatsu haisei (拝察 胚性, embryonic inferences) anent ces secs eselsbrückigen distortions in the rassoté poreux manège Our Lattata Lady of the Syncopal Sulci Halophantici conducts her comical hula-spired carnaval à huis clos with et tandis qu’un pantois pantomimique pollex promène sa tourbillonnante, sa tourmentante, sa tourneboulante pesanteur ex ὠμοφρόνως all tata tata talatala over under around and into l’anicroche du gavroche le plus proche, the other coaxes poor entmuendigten (paralytic) anthophilic éthérolâtres into intromitting their monads into the grelots of the Campanula lichastica sprouting from the cracks in the somato-cephalic Auslassung and girdling, thus, each discrete axon’s eupompously choreographed depolarization and whilst se me mete en la sociofisiológica silla a chupar la teta de tal tata laitière I manage to touch all I safely, sanely, saporously, salaciously, saprophagously can with my prehensile pogonophoran palpi (PPP), my polypoid pudendal pincers (PPP), my nudibranchiate tentacles, my sauce-for-the-goose proboscoid radula clashing with the commonplace tense’s senescendo apprehensioni rei, crashing against the complacent essence’s self-righteous quiddity, crushing the complaisant sense’s ecce exarationem expuesta orgánicamente to the incessant, censée sémiotique, existentially torrential Suchlausch à la lārati māyūra smarabhāvasya ća anubhavasya (लीलारति मायूर स्मरभावस्यच अनुभवस्य, pavonine play of persistent paramnestic proprioception and peripheral phenomenal perception [PP(PPP · PPP)]) as if it or I or they or we were (hence the title of my soon-to-appear research paper in the Journal of Sociophysiology, “Der Schlaukopf im Spie(ge)lhaus : A clitalysis of the sociophysiology of mnemonoclasis”) your proverbial Schlaukopf soufflant au lilas, chevrotant “Aua!,” schillernd wie ein Buntfalke’s alula, schimmernd als aulic hereditasculi halidoms of unbraided stage wenches in some ramshackle provincial häusliches Spie(ge)lhaus — laciniatum, fractum, scissum, ruptum a tal lattaio punto che my sentences cease seemingly to signify, viz., 1º Le même faiseur de crêpes noté aux moult caboulots de Paris a diagram of which could be characterized by the hexagram of homespun moot axes Perec sets, en ses canées Mémoires d’enfance, into a svastika or a sri yantra according to the following pub-parish pairings (PPP): L’Hypozeuxe Osé, Montparnasse; Été Sec, Censier-Daubenton; Rigolo Repos, Oberkampf; Au Trichotome Sexe, Panurgie-Vendôme; Il Nascondiglio di Santo Exuperio, Cherche-Midi; L’Alta Atatièr, Hoche-Rocard; Au Chais Llemosí (dit aussi “La Casa Lhuillier”), Saint-Anastomose-aux-Entrepreneurs — comme je l’ai, dès que j’en ai aperçu, haï, las lors même que je fuis la lâche intrigue! 2º What I had looked forward to, during my séjour lutésien, as une suite d’événements inorthodoxe, est rompu anecdotiquement, anémiquement, quotidiennement par la hula-slicing série of fraudulent âme-sœur expostulating, “Tat lalāṭaka, mi schaüla ladyboy! La Schual in die ich ging, du auch als lieblich ausländische Anfänger war, non? Non ti ricordi come la resaca li Hülbe verwandelte [how the dry nulla transformed into a lush calid caliginous calix of splish-splash licuando deliciousness] y nos emborracha si llueve y que allá suchiamoci?” or some other such alliage alliacé of an incessant scene-seeling sabir qui bien sûr est, dès que je l’ai lu, chassée by the sibylline omen Proust exacts from his pristine past in order to inform my tortured future with, to wit, what I had judged to be, in my innocence, a tense sesšu-session of réminiscence sensée, astucieuse, et vraiment estudiantine, I now realize was nothing more than una, grâce à lui, schalkhafte cantata a tallar un polvo conmigo to which I would now, if my foolish aula-chicaners were to dare approach me again, jouxte ma réponse avec une véhémence as terrible as it would be poetic, e.g., “Si una tal Attalea does not grow there, I did not go there! Si les marsupiales omnivores, opossums in particular, do not forage there, I did not study there! If the sylphlike manatee’s moue proximale does not spread mirth throughout the littoral there, I did not read earthly literature there! Und wenn die bellenden parrots eoan expectorations of the gobbet-skins and glister seeds of the gouty fruits of Ficus hallatafolia and Cecropia do not wake the unpracticed traveler there, I did not take my practica there!” 3º One preternaturally warm autumn afternoon I found myself engaged in an obscene ascent esseulé(e), essévé(e), Esseintesque of one of those interminable street-scenes censée agreste but really désertique one occasionally stumbles upon in Paris and up which one creeps past shuttered tabacs and locked portes cochères and shrill young mères holding aloft infans pilata tal aterciopelada nucha pulli by means of whose urethra cuniculata a latter-day bladder, specifically mine, would simply love to telepathically abstract its rum-, garlic-, and sun-engorged convexity into a less ghastly state of turgescent ascèse ensuquée d’urine turning my every gloomy (ou morne) step exaestuans into that of a crippled tératome onéreux, spavined teraph all gouty and doddering until after what seems like hours 3º´ I at last reach quelque Place du Tertre ou Rond-Point de la Motte ou Square du Cairn ou Agora du Galgal où je l’ai su chaleureusement qu’I would surely find the appropriate chrysopoeian elixir dans une buvette complete with the lapis philosophorum d’un bourdalou by means of which rerum vesicae eo ipso meato exurendi would, avant que je ne me pâme, soon ex urethro quintessences, sea-scented ebulliences be, but no, il n’y avait là ni buvette ni bourdalou (mot inusité que j’ai récemment, dans Pascal, lu hilarieusement) mais seulement la source, so to speak, de tout ce bas monde esquinté de pissat — essence enceinte du body’s bonheur quand il est chu là, sailli à son grè, but a scruffy whining embryon étoupé ex sarmento de denses cactées enserrées d’intenses acescentes épines (the blood-drunk venom of which increases — ecce St. Sennachérib! — in precise logarithmic proportion to one’s lack of food and drink) quand you have to haul sail close enough to keel in order to make any progress at all, beating and gybing against the blustering squall lashing from your bilge to your gills — faisant y couler un avili lac haussé en vrac, i.e., none other than — who else? — ce grand oiseau d’émeut, N. Soréa, exposing himself to the admiring laughter of parked phaetons, the coarse grins of stalled dogcarts, and engrossed as he was in flatulent contemplation de ses eaux énormes pothering the bark of a poplar tree and the gravel at the tree’s base and the cast-iron grating surrounding the tree and the sidewalk i ulica hlasitá ili la chaussée bruyante and the brimming rill-o’-rim where the enchanting maenads dabble, il ne m’a pas, entourée moxena de burgas that he was, vu, all chaise-d’or’d en la caliente ducha lisa lloviendo de su elephantiastical blunderbuss of a mentula, his claymore of a vicambulical, hydraulical, hyperdulical shaft and 3º˝ I at last reach quelque Place du Tertre ou Rond-Point de la Motte ou Square du Cairn ou Agora du Galgal où il a chalu sensiblement, sévèrement, scrupuleusement à moi que je trouve avant que, au beau milieu de ce fangeux chahut, de ce tourbeux tohu-bohu, la clasis urocystique ne m’accable, quelque môme pasteur exondé de l’étang who’d lead me to what more than likely he or she and their ilk’d be privy to, viz., quelque cabinet caché, robinet à l’abri, bidet ignoré, chiotte obscure where I could, after having uncinched my kimono, peruse ex atro bili whilst squatting a tarabiscoté poem, a nexus rhapsodical of complex prose, automnesia, and diary-like jottings of the sublunary evoking, for instance, ces Essene accents, senses eerily grandiose or pompous, yet neither too personable nor too responsorial, of that cassene scene Stevens sets en C’s æcer donde el ángel clamoroso perturbs the naked morose poetsses’ canescent, eellike dreams with the staccato prose of an intelligent essence’s caesural presentment pausing in the porches (PPP) of Yucatan or Appalachia or some other occluded trou de jouissances, scène étendue d’aisances et essences rapiécétés en ascèses nymphéales where ghoulish Lacan gamahucha la sillonnée moule della Signora Realtà, la tâtonna comme si elle n’était qu’une petite giggling geisha, la culbuta en déchirant son nouménal embonilh, sa lacune à ménopome, son Autre existentiel and lo and behold who do I spy, not one, not two, but three young, rather decrepit Sihlaucal buskers, who were, having laid aside their their childish instruments — dog-eared mulish calamity of a calabash-bodied charango, chhalla sicu, déconcerté moxeño — pausing en tailleur in the tobacco-fumed entr’acte de leur champêtre son ἐξουρισμοστῐκοῦ which only now that it was stopped did I realize had been provoking my bladder during the whole previous item and so bending down to them I ask in the lingua franca of coastal Tetrastica, “Liu calasha où sciala hla belt? Aatlaatacatl at alta, nascente, necesse straripamento su’! Exorem!” “Desdicha,” la sluttish older chala lisurienta me dice, “todo cerrado. Feriado hoy. Tu pichula salpicón, nos vos le mostrá. Poné! Exultá la tata [she shakes her little sister, who was wrapped in a Tlaatlata chal lusingando pero esumato ex nihilo, so it seemed, par la nuque] como [and points with her pouting lower lip to la pilila chaussadière of my erstwhile thaumaturge, from which the oleaginous contents continued to flow unabated] el señor acá!” and begins rolling another cigarette but the middle one, she of the visage ennobli à la chustka sponsali, chula y variopinta, stands and takes me by the hand and leads me to the desired petit endroit (a leaf-and-newspaper-strewn hole in a doorless windowless roofless house of wounded spiders behind a defunct coverless caravane aux roues metaneoplastically de-, re-, mis-, and unspoked deus ex machina’d into the rear of some sort of abandoned théâtre forain) and helps me untie my obi and stares at the acrid haze behind which I squat on shaking haunches to let the geyser gush out of me and seals her tubular trifle of tobacco and rice paper with a pink-darted lick and says, “Che orrendoro chetoso! Pero no es oprobio, así y todo por eso oloroso episodio, es oportuno pues estábamos operose pensionanti insieme, non?”
§ 109 | Pox
Far be it for me to speculate anent whatever mnemoptrical paradox warping through her white matter enabled my pan-pipeuse axonometrically to recognize dans la parallaxe trompeuse, ondoyante, et recourbée of squatting me — ensconced as I was like the petrified statue of a Tixputano Eros Emeticos behind the sort of acrid acrosonic rampart, sexuée onomatopée oxen śrutify their barren donny-brooks with que mes abundantly unleashed eaux detonating in the resonant inodoro espontáneo had structured the very air with — a homologously dirt-poor soeur from her hill-top convent playing the part of an inexperienced Tixputan Romeo esecrabile cautiously at first, then quite busily dipping, sans pensée aux tomorrow’s aggravated exulcerations and the day after tomorrow’s ulcerated exuviae and the day after the day after tomorrow’s polluted exanthema, his or her unwashed fingers into the opaque unctuous exudate, salty to the taste yet vaguely floral in aroma, his muy caliente puta menor’s exotic motoune exasperatingly secreted throughout the ultimately vain attempt to bequeath her eager oospores the callow paroxysm loose prolix Nature’s poème orphique (el multífloro ἔπος of prakṛti [प्रकृति]) had phylogenetically ordained they ontogenetically demand of him, her, or whomever. Following an abluted examination of myself and hers, thus, I granted my frustrated, exuperable, infatuated, exquisitely uncorseted, beaded-friendship-braceleted, wantonly ringleted auxiliary a belated exustion involving the reciprocated exurgency of mutually permuted exarations leaving us both in an embruted, exantlatively refractory state of, to coin a phrase, gardyloo repose in which to recuperate avant que le next aède urolagnique ne nous prisse ou pisse au-dessus. Now, whereas le texte d’autres auteurs, whose raison d’être n’est que l’on s’est, par moyen de ce même texte, amusé pornographiquement après, ou exoribile exorbitatum exosculatum pendant y avoir lu (lips parted, hands entre les jambes) various convenient theatrical devices, soit combinatorially rehearsed à la the sorts of impossible imbrications and inexplicably inextricable anastomoses Sade extuberates an otherwise rather scrogneugneu, épars “monotext” with, soit, à la Fusée, more pantoxestically extemporaneous, for delivering fluctueux sperme to an opalescent orifice as well as the more extraneous poemata erotica invented to circumvent, supplement, or supplant ditto, would at this point be content to explicitly depict — using the mixed-media-on-rustically-unsanded-gesso prose “outsider artists” (cf. supra) are encouraged to “make art” with so as to effect the “vexed authenticity” deemed more “realistic” which such species of instrumentally maussade exutoire are said to possess or at least extoll — in all their crapuleux détails the sorts of sphincterically buxom parts one eerily (owing to the greenish-brown light qui se trouve toujours dans ces petits lieux d’atellanes atemporelles) broaches, for instance, with the raw proxy of an old-time olisbos, or operates on with all the operose opophagy of an out-of-context aedum sugendum, mon propre texte audacieux, osé, prôné, matois et plus affûté exadversum to the foregoing, as we have seen, explores opotherapeutically by means of the most bewitchingly precise repertoire of concepts and terminology — and this, despite the risk of being misinterpreted auxetically as a mere bombastic mode for the purveyance of convoluted exaggerations and involuted exaltations — the unabated exundation (utseka उत्सेक) of unexpurgated, exuberant, variegated, and unmitigated exultation (bhoga भोग) which the sophisticated, emancipated, dedicated, never sated, pleasingly articulated, well-lubricated, sometimes inebriated, and thoroughly stimulated exultador(a) (bhoktṛ भोक्तृ) exults in (bhunakti भुनक्ति) when partaking of teda exuncta (anointed exaucement, snehākta bhaga स्नेहाक्त भग) on, in, and throughout the playground of pleasure (krīḍakṣetra bhogasya क्रीडक्षेत्र भोगस्य). And so it is as a simple point d’appui for the further development of psychosomatic know-how, praxis clitalytique, capax prowess sociophysiologique, and bhagāṅkurious whatnot that I recapitulate deux ou trois antecedaneous, trop exemplary, perhaps, summa bona I, myself, have enjoyed (bubhuje बुभुजे): (§ 4) the type-specimen of Atropos eolios, torpidly engorged after having swallowed a hideous torma expensa of small furry creatures writhes magnificently a) after being stung by a Eurasian spouting scorpion, Uroctonus exopremae, and b) while being grazed on by carnivorous Exema penthesilea; (§ 33) a sublittoral bloom of plagal feather stars, Phrixometra neopseusta, emporté aux one’s plus aigus états d’être un(e) air-breathing though under-water-loving urochordate exululandishly transforms, gràce à la fougue d’un acropête remous axonal, into a defenestratively sublime Xenopatrus oestrobolitinus surfing the turbulent ether above les toits de Paris; (§ 75) the subject, masquerading as the onomastic lure of a Sicilian sandbox prawn, Xeropenaeus motyensis, but really a mentiroso époustouflant specimen of Tremapexus oenonii which a garrulous riparian jay, Cyanocorax peneus, metonymically extracts from its cracked shell after having lobbed it sur la calade extumescente of a subtropical city and then abandons after being spooked by an asqueroso épouvantail of a satyrical nymphalid which latter traduces the cornuted exacinated subject with la coquille d’une caracole commune (Caracola communalis L.) and tosses the whole perverted, corrupted, exaugural mess into the cold blue waters of an Appalachian swimming hole.
§ 110 | Oospore
Puisque la mnésoclastie de mes prêtre(sse) de Phanes’ melanceuthic actorum exactorum tends, despite mes erratiques allusions (supra) to the first of the following auct. cit. (infra), to suckle less from l’idéoclastie du rorans lactis épars, métré, dégouttant de l’avilie tette de Rimbaud and more from le mamelon tchapant de la sémioclastie mitée de Barthes, my champertied Stresemann maintains that we should and shall more induratively appose contra the perhaps trop xenographically abstract mollitude of the foregoing, a feistily glistening, à la your grease-primed, settled-in-for-the-whole-txipotle sybarite, round fistful of chanceux, possibly frowned-upon, chatouilleux, helioptoestical tirages from my personal collection of same, triste, dépersonnalisée though it (my collection) might already have been mise en page by various dottori and eurhythmicists (supra) as, viz.,
Item, desperate Sr. Beteta, timid, eremitical, sycophantic anthophile, toxoplasmatically transforms, on sinking his rakish topcanların into the sluttish topçanlara of a specimen of Cypripedium parasitized by an unidentified apicomplexan, into a frantic anthophage and devours what heretofore he’d only tenderly admired, tété, béatifié, thus, but never actually, as if he were the exemplar of a paraphilic species of Saptha, consumed.

Item (battered εἴδωλᾰ of what follows have already been presented, yet my never wearied, never worried, never hurried, many historied pet Stresemann insists que l’éćriture a dons qui nous tendent un moins abstrait remède, bitter though it [le remède] be, aux polymorphes symptômes de PTSD téméraires), our private tutor and Reiseführer, a supposedly polymath ponce and member in good standing of the Penutian Order of the Cinaedo Turrito Gezelschap, Tony Miwa, turns out to be a straight operator indubitably bent, it soon becomes apparent, on inducting his wards, i.e., my carnaval-et-carême-adept sister Lamia, better éditée que moi in the puruṣa department you might deem if you’re the sort of partouzard(e) routinely expecting your petite tribade emmascaradée mit bite teigneuse to be as incognita on exiting the orgy as she was on entering, who had by then already evolved into the popular, generic, hot-panted, triple-X hootered, red beretted bimitaeko (美実妙子) who’d soon enthrall rank Appalachiks, wretched, périmés Tetrasticians, and Mirando-Etruscans of all persuasions, — and singularly dual, unmistakably non-maskable, happily unmasqueradable — due to the nonce anomalies the unique XX-YX make-up of my phylontogeny invariably reveals to those impetuously true and/or impishly brave enough to peek beneath or between the covers — me (note d’hypothèse pour résoudre a trinitarian conundrum anent the in utero drama that caused tre trame di pessebres potenciales to epiplectically tarir, dénouer, or something along those lines, por dentro aurifluum de la matrix ὁλοπτερνιστης, and then anadiplostically, as the poet dira, renouer in a climactic didymatoky such that tandis que the gastrula comprising in miniature ordinary Lamia se prête de stromales portions of our embryonic sosie’s annamaya kośau in order to grossly nourish her own sthūlaśarīra, mes deep-set totipotent tissues extracted all the exquisite suc [cognate with both sleek sukha (सुख pleasure) and orticarica śukra (शुक्र spunk)] from ditto’s ānandamaya kośa, thus piquing the provocativeness of my kāraṇaśarīra, et des tempestatifs guṇānām making up its prāṇamaya kośa, those I sublimely appropriated, of course, for my own subtle sūkṣmaśarīra et s’est empedrada, por medio dell’aforedescribed process of how our trio turned antenatally into a parturient pair [terno duettato prenascitamente ad parto], la brecha pontaria y pontivaga in my theory as to why perhaps my even-tempered sister ably continues to attract clients with her self-satisfied manner of doling out ocha pneumatically to, por ejemplo, the hatchet-fronted auriga whom she has just, or will soon, proffer[ed] fulsomer services to, while I have gone on to engage in more wholesomely spiritual, yet nevertheless still quite actively sensuous, pursuits as witness, to wit, that whereas, e.g., your second-rate literary squatter espère dismal minds and bodies from those whose renfort se répète dismally, nous autres promiscuous textworkers de l’aiguichant poème bâti d’être et impregné d’expérience puissions tirer de spasme étonnant même de celle ou celui qui pâtit de ses remerciées emprises de raté tâcheron[ne] et qui ne peut y donner qu’un apport très pâmé de séismes de fringale — and that, by the way, is what differentiates those who mechanically caress, pet deterministically, and faute de mieux “possess” mit preread Technik la surface de l’autre ordinaire from those who inventively plunge into à l’improviste, master depredatorily, and probe mit der tâtée Innigkeit of the heterolexically adept Reisestremmer[in], the succulent profondeurs de l’autre inordinately other), into the kenotolagnic arts de méprisée tendance.

Item, a bitter edentulous vieillard mignard entr’ouille himself, so to speak, by arranging to exploit holes in his neighbors’ ploxo-ethical logic in such a way that, dans ses propres caves he could fix himself between the respective puisne XY scions of the two houses flanking his own and there engloutir André le Jeune whilst the latter bit die émerveillantes Nüsse of the other budding catamite, triebedelmütige indeed, since he, at the same time, battered impetuously away at our vintage specimen of an XYX phenotype’s well-cintred οὐρά jusqu’au culmini venereali, whereupon, with the elder remaining in the middle, i giovani diastemi ebeti trade places with such screaming alacrity que le petit maître perd ses testicules même, it seems, dans le mâchouillement obscur du vieillard, “Ah! Me. Pierre tastes divine!” but neither Master Peter’s deificationis stupratae, nor Andrei utsargapaddhates vyabhićārinyāḥ (उत्सर्गपद्धतेस् व्यभिचारिन्याः), have been in vain, since it is a rejuvenated Monsieur Tornade, retired uranologist, who, more sempervirent than ever, gleaming choppers reaffixed, will emerge from his cellar to answer with gracious concern his neighbors’ queries anent the whereabouts of their absent offspring dot dot dot.

Item, a repressed Triptolemusian hierophant clutches his votaries’ détrempés membra et tiédie tautoousia in his radula and sucks with the same vigorous gusto with which an ichor-drunk bull elephant, coveting his own calves, fixes his trunk to their in-flagrante-delicto’d rainures in order to siphon catamenia traumatica as if it were the finest Beaujolais primeur and thus turn a dire open déchirure into a delicious vulnerary.

Item, aspersed, étreint Monsieur Tornade, retired uranologist (we’ve met him before), along with a particular pair of his hopped-up, supremely heterosexual YXY chums, Herr Dieter Spaetsemmel, retired team Beitragender, and Señor Idutares, retired map tester, decide to murder an otiose, yet still at least twice younger than themselves, prostitute by strapping her to five evenly spaced pegs on a large iron and vermeil hoop, extending her limbs to form a convex polygon, an orthoplex oiseau bleu de plaisir désemparé, tétanisé pour faciliter le triomphant coït, admiré tête-bêche et tété à miré bidonnage by means of catheters tapered mischievously que les vieux poke into her neck and chest, making good on her nom de guerre, Obedient Aurore (and who knows how many otros malheureux pobres y pormenorizados seres teamed triply thus they’ve put paid to?).

My unexpurgated, ripe Stresemann has scrivened these multifaceted misters’ aperçus, not to lambaste, praise, determine their (im)morality, or whatnot, but simply to show a few of the innumerable photo-elixenteral stigmata with which profligate Nature ordinates the young with the old, the innocent with the experienced, the simple oxothionin of the mustard seed with the complex thio-oxysterol-binding protein of the mammalian ditto. And yet, despite various méticuleux poppériens démentis empirically demonstrating that the civilist, positivist, consequentialist, and all too universally expedient lex hoi polloi are enjoined to rurally prostrate themselves before is nothing but a court-ordained fantasy which the urbanely flippant choice, the cosmopolitanly rampant chosen, and the raffishly discrepant choosing do not even bother to flout, but simply, avec cette radine tournure adroite de désinvolture adoringly characteristic of our set, ignore, nous autres mirifiques badaud(e)s, whose warps and wefts have been trained, ourdi(e)s, implicated, nourri(e)s même par Ms. Petra, détiré(e)s par l’expérience, and refined by the sociophysiological conjunction of theory and practice, soit exophlegmatically among strangers on the Playground of Taboo in Glamporium, soit ex-phlogistoically among ami(e)s in the Oneida Rut-Room in back of the Dirna Route Café, we gungho exploiters of the ever interesting remainder troussant the froward aine troublée between μνεία and μνηστεία augment, et en même temps constrain, our ravishingly corporeal relishing with and within des limites parées de truquages, de tromperies, de tricheries, des termes pétris d’aétites et d’aeolipyles, voire d’aesthétique et d’aetiologie, so that, given le choix — peloter repeatedly, ou ne peler qu’une seule fois — we — having thoroughly indagado las homologías entre reanudar teóricamente en el propósito y desnudar eróticamente en el prostíbulo, c’est-à-dire, the intimate relationship between kioku no tera und irojaya, between se souvenir et semer des tapins, between tranquil smṛti and ornery smara, between the underwater spasm et die Erinnerung of ditto, or, to employ the expert, épais termes de notre métier de Spassmacher im Krīḍakṣetrāya des Tabus, the mnemonoclastic act of trying to remember a tiède titillation past, for instance, sets in motion a schizomythic slew of partousêtres de maître-passé, psychosomatoentolexiphoric phantoms of holopixetical nympholexitopes qui vont s’ébattre, demi-étiolé(e)s, in the textoleiophrenia of one’s mind — opt for the former. So no matter — dispersées toquades der dämonischer Natur, εἴδωλᾰ of passades past! — whether, in the manner of some Oneida-turriculated, pot-pourried Tantricist, you’ve managed to let the sperm iterate sedately, sedulously, seductively behind the body-mind barrier sans jamais en jaillir, or whether, à la quelque hypobradytelic gastropod undergoing myxoitophlebotomy, you’ve let la foutre drain out ever so slowly, or even whether you’ve spurted noriastic cataclysms of amṛta, Perséides etincelantes of cosmic soma comme la foutre Indra aimed at squatting micturienda Rohini but which, in a moment of indiscretion, Rudra received ab nutriendo (a rostro), each memory-seed (smṛtiretas) persists as a twee, restated prism of perception and it is these prisms the mnemonoclast plays with as if they were the complex, gamaka-charged notes of infinite sets of nonstop chansons in such a manner that said infinite sets remap derivatives of themselves and it is precisely these derivatives of sets of chansons of prisms of seeds of memory which are the very śukrāḥ bhāvasya (शुक्राः भावस्य) qui m’aident urorrhetorically, so to speak, à, en este momento de urinar, por ejemplo, cuando tiré rayos a las y los que me topan chispas, remettre derechef en esprit des tramées prises d’être méatophiles, hématophages, béatifiques, textoleiophoriques, and so it was and is that even as our synoecious mélusine grapples with the game sheila of the solicitous sophont, causing our caudate, iron-rich nuclei to send signals to the heteroclite hox operons which help oxitocicamente the loop-xiuhtōtōtical fingers of our Nippo-Hopi X-telomeres to rhythmically dilate and contract and cause whatever molecules that timber-tie deed-muscled bodies to need-nerved minds to unravel and reravel into heretofore unseen pictures of pleasure, unheard symphonies of sensation, unfrottaged patterns of palpation, untasted potlucks of gourmandises, unsmelt bouquets of hyperosmaticity, such that as the surge of surjouissance threatens to turn popular fellatio into opprobrious apophallatio, yummy yonilingual gamahuchery into execrable clitorovulvular butchery, aristotelian socratistry into platonic prostaproctectomy, ardent iroutsukushi kousetsu (色美しい交接) into vampire-tempered satsugai (殺害), still we kept and keep our composure, and so my Murex daris–trempée stenographical plume, you would have noted a ruricolan flurry of gawkery sweep through the enfêted, ebriate, timorée foule as it collectively stared at the, to them, suspect, disjunct, derelict, imperfect, but to us, exact, distinct, conjunct, select, elect, pluperfect Phänomen of two battle-scarred Temes epistémicas, dos exquisitos seres emptied artfully of torminal torment who limped, taré(e)s, tresses mussed somewhat, out of cet endroit aruspicilégifère, she, the simple XX-poppet “corirendo ra tuna,” comme elle disait, a little older and wiser, a little more amphibious and, hélas, un peu plus fanée, and moi, the complex pogonopholexitorical XX-YX potamophilous mermaidenman, much more girlish and gay, younger, more innocent, and, above all, beaucoup plus rafraîchi(e)!
§ 111 | ID
“Actually, Herr Docteur Tartis, landica eccere mea distincta ab mentula est. And so brave aficionados like yourself, dont la vis périyonique et le glissando piloir savent y nous faire éployer, on divastigating my fleshy fleshly intima, won’t find just one, but actually two mini-yangs, as it were, the former a mellow, mallow and yellow tiny maṇi of condign womaninity, the latter possessing all the exactingly fanciful concinnity a Mowgli, for instance, might display lengthwise but unfortunately not in wimble girth, and so as is my wont in aimables situations involving a certain, to, in my witty whimsy, coin a term, ‘pachythalamion want,’ I yoke to myself an old-fashioned fascinum in the fascinating manner Sri Tony Miwa initiated me secretly into when, pendant some other instar, I’d emcee those never-to-be-effaced rites émétiques. À propos, these tantra-lustred ictuses I seem to be experiencing ever since I [and here the good Fachmann laughs] slid, try as I might not to, in amongst certain omniwyvernists, rozličný ksindl, Gaulish strȳnde, and kinky bandied yuyeros que la Lutèce d’ἐρᾰσμῐ́ων tawny imitatrices deems fit to teem with — as do, I might add, those sordid Abschaumsräume perdidos dans quelque bretesce madrilène cuyos umbrales I trickled across more out of necessity than choice pendant mon séjour there as well as the Lyonian Mitwisserschaftsraum plopped down in this medina à zizanie madrée où cette Zazie damnée-là [with my nose I indicate une petite goton standing less than 15 hands high and weighing in at little more than 6 stone] nous sert en ce moment-ci d’Érasme exalté même — these, if you’ll let me continue, haphazard lacunas, titter-tottered macies of haptofoveal chimeras, deceitful, spiroid, zesty, wanton imitationes pro vita lydiasta décriée Madame Reality voids poncively from whatever singing fragment of dawn, spawn, brawn I’m toying with at the moment are not, I’m yawningly having to insist, so many twining, pervasive dim traces, emblematic redescents of, towards, and into a yin-mwêdried teca smemorata of those etiological, art-rutted instances — tart, lurid, tentacular, strident — of dissociation I dove spryly into when first I cédé méatofessement my downy intimarum, as I’ve already intimated ad libitum supra, to born-again Tony Miwa’s libertine libido — mais ça, ce n’est qu’une parmi des maintes infamies d’être, comme je vous dirai, androgyne, notwithstanding said terme échéant utilized supra and its concomitant ignominy waiting ever in the shadows — spielierisch, spiegelungig, speichelich — to leap out and take advantage of the merest decaimiento of conscious perception of the queerest dámička on the playground being entailed by the following, to wit, among the reasons I’ve chosen to consult a tired tractator like yourself, Uncle Tartis, dartreux though you be here in your den of larcenous villainy, two main ones stand out, namely, primo, I’m not here to have some theatrical therapist read me ceteris ac medentibus paribus in the manner Diderot sized up ad ludis pedantibus quelques autres bijoux with anent my own immensely indiscreet amenazante anatomy I win every prize for (étant donné que son poil du minou affronte l’œil du Minotaure abattu par Thésée) aidoiolatry with since, as I’ve already said, mon vit est distinct du clitoris, etc., but rather to get your opinion, my tawdry bastard uncle Tritoris Tartışmanin, on the idea we’ve been exploring at ISOCPHYS, c’est-à-dire, that as the hysterical subject’s dream-eisegetical automatism recedes, a schizomythic altarity loops envidiablemente from what the amnestic, dream-enveloped subject demiserat into that which the mnestic, merde-addled object a miré de ses (the subject’s) actes d’émié remords such that there then ensues, pendant la clitalyse du clitalysand, a худой venial tropism redolent of an altarian mint-y-owl’s clover (Castilleja sp.) like odor similar to that which precedes mating rituals taking place, for instance, among Nimloidu snails in the Madrid rain making slimy tracks in the mud reminiscent of those map-like traces I’d meekly point out to my mentor in the stained slices of some small mammal’s brain I’d drawn for her während wir bearbeiten in that other lab across the sea allowing the observer to fill in the blanks of the addled subject’s mémoire criblée with the result that one is finally able to — as the eidola eripienda of that codpieced, error-centered child ou minouchette vingt fois, cent fois, mille fois trahie, désolée, abandonnée, or that fetishized manatee calf or cirratulid moinguénette I was strike pose after new pose — dislimn l’oui d’esultazione du non d’umiliazione and, segundo, to ask, ‘Who, sir, sired me?’ Categorically speaking, that is.” I trust the reader will forgive in advance my reliance on the oral ductility, womanish savoir faire, and shimmer-shammered asceticism of a douce concubine as well as the water-wheeled dulcitude of wine cups she never failed to promptly refill not only to keep the appropriate mechanism erect, adequately primed, et sacer vaticinius in the increasingly triste ζῴδιον of the hand essayant d’écrire ce roerigheid of a disturbing soliloquy that follows mais aussi pour désattiser ma décevance, ma striée déception anent its puzzling import même. “Ma chère épicène,” my uncle, Dr. T. Tartis, answered, “nièce, ma très douceâtre ganymède, t’as crié suffisamment que je vais te répondre en te souhaitant ardemment que mon pas du tout malsain mot n’y wipe away ton inimitié, ta méfiance. En bref, whether, segundo, your father was an Ionian wymiotarz, Yazidi flunky, Kibei dandy, Yadava yachtsman, or Bania yeoman yearning to, perhaps, on the isle of Kandy, buy kine dying of, for instance, a purulent murrain cattle-dusters dubbed ‘Indian Yukky,’ ‘Yellow-Pissed Dropsy,’ or something along those lines to be purveyed in kind by Yakuza to the Javanese priyayi, dunned by Kikuyu in Kenya, kiddy-bargained for in turn by leeward Brits and so on and your mother was a raw débridée war bride or an a-tutta-birra dewadasi met ceremoniously or un- by any and all of the foregoing in a seaside tea-shack dans n’importe quelle ville synadelphe, or whether you’re simply the obscure spawn of seacows Poseidon possessed — pow! — in passing pendant qu’Ulysse rode Circe relentlessly for a year on the latter’s lush toroid isle, Aeaea, or even whether you’re nothing more than a bedside idea our Resident Doctor of Moral Turpitude, Litarn-Stracklind, himself, diddle-daddled into the creamiest lap und Döschen of that splendid pale stunning young lady in a bendy kiyukata (綺浴衣) falling open to reveal a froward titty, a ravishing sultry landingstrip, a jade-and-silver-wire abdominal stud dependably glistening au beau milieu you see gently but firmly straddling his knees en ce moment-ci there [curtain draws aside, bright spot illumines the aforesaid primal scene in an alcofribasian alcoba] as if she were the adorably unredeemed star cinematically strutting her saucy juvenilia in A Tara T. Dirty™ but who’s really a slinky kid, bandy-yeux’d and not more than twelve, named Bunny Kidyaky, if I’m not mistaken, byudniy dikaya antinomy with your underexploited intertidal zone of mine, makes no difference at all, for a certain, comme on dit, morbide wrakkige substrat runs dialectically, as I need not remind you, I’m sure, the length and breadth of our lineage, said morbidly decaying substrate having been known to predispose whorish teloi à des effets which, I suppose, wisdom might chide in hindsight but folly fully condones in advance, et si nous, rejetons soit d’une sylphide aléatoire, soit d’un crapulard hilote, essaierons de sonder nos origines what we will find is that you, en dépit de tout ce que t’en as déjà vu, cru, su, et lu, Dominique, will still be the randy kinky buey diabólico you are with your dinky dyke-yin baufällig und bekundend a YYY bi-kinetoplastid swarm in parasitic equipoise around an XX nucleus while I will still be le frère de ta miscégénée (sic) mère data per deos ad maiorem voluptatem hominum you should bow down to and worship as the solid avuncular idol subtending the sosie ordalien of your mucho toisée Realidad idiota! En cuanto a lo que tu pides landsknechtement, primo, anent your intención de comparar tidy attestations of trauma in — I won’t yank it out until we’re both ready, all right? so just hold still! — mammalian brain slices to slime traces deposited on viral yermos by snails en barro madrileño y posit ventajosamente entonces un modo de todo — inwit y animo y anima y two nightly visits, at least, by succubi and incubi inclus — aclarar, I didn’t quite follow.”
§ 112 | SBI
Despite an inréglable (unruly), selon le terrain enténébré de termes précis dont on se vivement garnira, tendance (tendency) towards a lobular or modular nonlinearity, my hazardous expedition in search of the marvelous, dexterous, ex debacchationibus et lady-ravished monads of mnemonoclasm is benignly reticular in tenor and thoroughly tender in nature and has nothing at all to do with the horrendous, extractive, acicular intention to construct, à la manière d’une créature de Boris Påntöffel, for instance, un sinistre, malin, bissigen méchanisme à blissfully — since the requisite impedimenta contain refinements simulating the coevolved dynamics of predator-prey and parasite-host relations, a certain enchantingly sedate olisbian semblance of stupendous, exquisite, rannicchiata yet turbin-less μαίευσις is lent body-räuberisch, so to speak, to the procedure such that the resulting cephalopodan renitence involved in the subsequent hectocotylian Bemissgeburt of memory entrains, with all the brachiopodous exuberant inexorability of a Balanina terebrata‘s pedicle in basim scopens of certain nether strati nenasytní, a delirious ἐξόδιον to the entire analgesically enhanced procès-verbal’s insemitationis ambisellariolae — par moyen d’un fougueux dossoyage frôlant les bords d’un affreux sodomotique bris, extraire the living elixir, sterblosen Saft, rasa gālaniboddhṛt, suc vivace d’une mémoire nantie de tout ce que mon altarian, enticing, synchronised, royal butterfly net a subi, dorloté, dérobé, pris, nautti (gobé sundry litanies of), et débagoulé artsy Bindeglieder davon, e.g., despite all the sins I blame, for instance, on the Nisei lambskinners’ and Ionian tergiversators’ and clever Brits’ expiable sins amiably aided by Kenyan tribes-doulas and inflicted on, and just as amiably received by, if I’m to believe the straight dope Dr. Tartis benumbed me with, ma mère, and for which Momiji blames, “instinctivement,” as Dr. N. Soréa put it ebulliently, on me, I must admit that she did give me, upon my graduation from that Select Boarding Institution (SBI) sous les brouillardeux oscillants arbres tixputanos et birred by the incessant wind up there, the initial spindly instar bourgeonnant et bourré d’encre of that series of heterolexical mechanisms enabling me to dislimn a besotted bestiary of all the sins I’m able to anoint with my tender inky bisous of nostalgia: l’año a sabor d’esbuta y linchazo parmi les Sabine crabs en Isla Miranda upon returning from which I try to describe sins Lamia doesn’t even acknowledge as such at the tea-shop’s promiscuous table, “Your dinner’s served, mis korai,” Momiji interrupts, and then since, according to Spitmarkx’s treibrreißende Luftig-pfeilschriftige Abbildungen which I will subsequently discover, “sandpatterns are thoughts’ doom” (§ 1.9) and “just as we cannot think of smoky thoughts at all apart from smoke, or figurative thoughts apart from numbers, so we cannot think of any thought apart from the humanness of its doom with other thoughts” (§ 2.1), all I can think about is ma vilaine sib’s machiavellian Bemissetaten anent riparian Tony, bruised, lacerated, bound, étiré Spartacus-like on one of the ruder of Gertrude’s ox-paths tandis que nous autres hetairotopia-brunted seraglio-bints Petra rudely coached into a superb tribadic intersex tribe of traveling besserwisserischer stimulatrices of the beatific multitude’s oxytocin potential as well as other of Demeter, Inanna, Rudrani, Tenenet, Chimalman, Isis, Beaivi, et aliae’s nimb-sculpted sociophysiological blessings such as Aphrodite’s налюблений струба, dopamine; ranting Athena’s limbi sagacis, i.e., serotonin; Artemis’s bilan épinéphrinique, und so weiter, nous leur avons fait nous connaître, eux, dos compañías mixtas of spadassin(e)s bilames attached to Horst X. Beria-Birr’s Texican Uniastrianists and Saliba’s Galoots, respectively, camped in the high wastelands of the smaller of the Far Gimmals’ bénis îlots, Abenaseli, via which I, on the strength of my close reading of Spitmarkx’s breitreifer Urtext, determined we should effect our exodus therefrom, rather than taking the more expected, and hence more dangerous, route of sailing directly east from the big island, arguing that, in order to “befuddle the locatively deluded tooth (songtooth or slatetooth, etc.) of the blessing as the pore of human syllables” (op. cit. § 9.10), “the poremouth is the knot of blessing-localities” (ibid.), since “in the blessing the object flows out locatively deluded” (op. cit., § 9.9) — donc, nous leur avons fait nous connaître by granting them, in the manner of the kundalini sybarbouzerie J.-S. Partre’s D’une boîte à l’autre’s Dino Byron engages in in ledit roman d’œillade busily torn into and through and thrown out par moi on the omnibus train de Lyon at one of the café car’s tables, “Your dinner est servi, meussieudame,” the waiter interrupts (which just goes to show you the transcontinental lengths our officious ex debilitate Matron Reality subdolously will go to to plagiarize in advance her own subjects’ impudendous experiences), a corybouzian sbirciata (since “the blessing flows out of what it flows out of in a ruttish and expertly thlipsic worldbeat: the blessing is etched” [op. cit., § 11.8]) at lascivious Iambe’s lingua lambdica laving sleazy Baubo’s inridentis portae brutae (leering blasé labia — though we were guided through the night sky’s misty mud-soil by Renata, a Sabian, Gloria, a Lesbian through and through, refined our theatrical tactics with her sidekick Maryam, a lisse Binarian — Ravigiallo: “You want to see basal, Gloria? This is basal!” Galvari: “No! Basil, gal! As in the sweet pungent herb tulasi, donya miya!”) while back in Owlstain your bedroom eyes will notice that at one of the tables in your drunkenly glib Dirna Route’s “petting room,” Ms. van Deux sows and intones el abanico próximo of Tradine Oru, “Bets, please, my ladies — burnt offerings accepted at the altar!” and at another you will see that, despite realizing that no one cares how in the Mexisi war I braved the salacious ex dipsario advances of a rather gamey sot d’un libraire in order to transcribe Spitmarkx’s triebrührender op. cit., I’m busily working on my translexification of ditto which I will continue in the wilds of western Paris, debout d’abord in a steep rutted byway, ensuite at a rickety table un soir d’automne au Bois sitting sous bizarre fairy lights on the populous ex dimicatione cobbled terrasse of a spectral buvette where some sort of hybrid shindig seems to be putting hamartia to the fore and hubris hindmost thence coming to in the morning après ce zany soir, bibulosity plummeting rapidly and as my matinal psychomachy is beginning to sound its schizomythic tocsins, I’m able, fortunately, to still them by procuring timely sustenance au Bistrot Île des Signes, place d’Antan, and in the Androptis tree au beau milieu duquel soberly awakened parrots bite, nuzzle, and preen, unperturbed by any military disaster or drunken encounter or embarrassingly nipped-in-the-bud affair I was brutally or brilliantly or briefly involved in tandis qu’à l’autre bout de notre Paris, on Butte de Mont-Marâtre to be precise, a sub locali et a priori basal anga of that other patte-d’oie runs brusque and brash from the café-cabaret Dos Peru in the salle à l’étage of which I’m at a table y souriant délectablement at Trober und spiegelblank at my urge to rush out the door and down the street and up five or six flights of stairs to ma fenêtre à tordu bispiritualisme devant which I’m seated at my table, rosy und inbrünstig und dipping my dripping golden nib into its copper-glimmery wasteland of reflection where, after having pushed and prodded and eventually planted his globular tidal buoys en la luteous, briny delta of my Tiber, Pedro, à nu, steeped in his own mucose, oily Bundtraum (op. cit., §§ 1.10, 2.11, 11.6), ronfle sur le mou, bon, silty radeau of our mattress such that “in the blessing the object can so flow out that between the thoughts of the objects are interspoked the wastelands of the blessing tooth” (op. cit., § 10.9) i.e., each “fullbrightly [vollglanzig]” (op. cit., § 10.10) fresh monad of mnemonoclasis mines a blameless maṇibījalakṣmī as niebla-less as the diamond-like clarity of the glass ball I — ganymedean, verzaubernd, lusty ἀοιδόν composing a powerful proverbial saga on all of supra and infra combined — might happen to gaze into, thus enabling me to see each locality’s “copper-glimmer of thought [Kupferschimmer des Gedankens]” (op. cit., §§ 3.6, 4.5) as a blessing, and only Gerdoransvidal’s, as a blight, since “the blessing fondled by a crumb leafs in the internal picture towards the blessing fondled by its own league-dream [Bundtraum]. [...] The blessing in which there is a furrow of crumb, becomes, if this be neither eccentric nor delocalized, simply pale. That a wasteland of blessing betooths a crumb can be singed from a nonrutting season where it transforms itself. We wish that everything is not yet rutted by this blessing” (op cit., § 11.6).
§ 113 | Innater
Only now have I noticed that what I thought was a sterile jasmine shrub is extravagantly radiating its groping spiral tendrils, phantom inflorescences, sensate fragrances censées esthétiquement plaisantes but which to me seem plutôt rances, canées et essentiellement sicut latrina anatis orestii (wie die Ente der Ente von Inula helenium L.), and firm-meshed network of resinous bitter leaves in all directions, so that what had been an excellent vantage point for the ex cathedra sub suffugio interlunii witnessing of ravissantes scènes écervelées of the jovial natives’ daily antics down below, is now a tangle of fluttering, Dilophus febrilis-beguiling, fruity lianas entwining the iron-trellis balcony. Oh, sui generis, baffling plant! You took what the sun-kissed déesses sent, canceled it with your pluviophilian Yatagan trifoliatus, and yet you thrash me merrily while I writhe in frustration and bisbigliata anguish, remembering the view, intimately savored auparavant, of those indécentes scènes salaces in the turpis building across the street involving a sweaty Italian waiter nutating his bare flesh, merman-style, on a glorious patch of well-pampered skin which madame’s hem rides up to reveal in autres pièces en actes sensuelles described elsewhere. And so now, in order to unbaffle what you, anarchic plant vinealis, baffled, I have to flounce myself out of my armchair convivialis, breach la porte-fenêtre liminaris, broach le silvestris balcon, and crest with my congested sinuses and throbbing crown said trellis-blighting mesh-remblai of allergenic vines, all at the risk of antagonizing the officious bitchy interventions of those who set the accursèd shrub’s ivy-liana iterations into motion by not only planting it there but also apparently feeding and watering and verbally encouraging it in absentia orinata ardua mea — notr’artisane iatroleptique de Concinnia, Tata Soréa, rendant fouineuse visite en compagnie de son cousin, l’haletant sanaïre iatromantique Dr. N. Soréa, traînant ainsi ses affichettes from the public landing to my private desk! Which risk I do not take but retreat, rather, to mi retrete, there to appeal more to der reiner Vorstellungskraft than to the chiaroscuro groupings of heads and hands and skirts. But when I emerge from la descente en casse-séné, as I’ve taken to calling my not infrequent trips au petit coin sur le palier, after having shaken there in mounting disbelief at the intermodal combination of grumose tenseness, cecal slackening, and, to coin a phrase, transportal hubbub, — scoundrelly stamping up the stairs, wheezing on the landing, rich echoes of montagnard patois, bold jangling and vicious scraping of jagged keys, brutal raping of tremulous locks, irritated squeaking of disgusted hinges — all signaling the criminal wrenching away of those two glorious rectangular things that still condescend to offer us protection from importuners and the elements alike, i.e., door and window, respectively — when I, that is, breezily recinch my kimono, flush, and fling open the door, the landing is blank and my dwelling, upon my suavely reentering, is bereft of human intruders — but the telltale clues that my safely stagnant refuge a souffert, in my absence necesse a stercorationem, un casse, se casent censément: on this side of the forfeit window, a gnat is blithely beating a tiny aile of antisociality and you, conspiratorial plant, have sprouted a few more tendrils, grown a few more leaves, spilled a few more seminal florets and intermingled with the conifer-and-carrion stench you disbursed all over my inconsolabilis bureau, je peux reconnaître a rat’s ailurophobic airburst of that obscene scent à essences tenaces se sentant le sel thionique d’une permanente récente sans cesse à refondre et bien sûr je vois brelique-breloque les affichettes minces entassées céans.
§ 114 | PPP
“Non, mais, my puckish ox,” politely I parry that heterostrophe ox Litarn’s bald riposte with a sympathetic anastrophe to lixulas lanceare in locutionem (pitch palliative pancakes into the palaver), “one need not pachalesquement insist so provocatively,” my pulchritudinous palabra in turn provokes our rechoncha, topless, tetraxile hot-pocket formerly of Cluny, Abra Chan, to prove literally the critical literalist’s point by draping her Mohitxe pollera in a compliant slut’s sponsionis perinealis artis — thighs and arms splayed to let his drooling lap notch thirstily into her auspex, tholoidal poultice — over his ancho pataratero, his pulsating tophat contumelious, “that your plagiarist’s sport consists of nothing more than copying.” “C’t’con, ah, p-,” notre cathartotrophe ox Litarn wimple-tents, like a triumphant coyuche abat-voix, the pollera so as, crachant poussivement un poil, to exhale his turgid utterance interlocutorward, “plagiat, hop! C’n’est pa’ noch ein’ patoche, han? C’t’postich’ ton pastiche, non? Ach! ¡Topétame, mi chancha pota!” “Cela dit,” I sidestep that catastrophé ox Litarn’s pachyglossal paroxysm, “the premeditated plagiarist’s position posits two different possible parcours procédesques. Primo, we may chop tangentially through any existing text hoop-like à l’aide d’un filandreux tool éphialtique, producing thus any number of curvilinear worm-like tesserae of text, ophelioid, falciform, squiggly, which we then allow to promiscuously cavort together to form new semi-colon-and-comma-choked clumps each of which strikes the reader as would a dried apricot, phaneritic and wrinkled in its photolexical matrix, holopetrified into a specific hapton of a distinct aphorism as tangible and recognizable as this fossil prolecanitid dans le calcaire de ce cénotaphe, o ox littéraire que tu es!” We had segued from our working lunch to a peregrine perpotation of Belleville going from l’Hôtel Poix on Julien-Lacroix to Le Philidor Indélicat on Philidor via un effarouchant potlatch on Pruniers near Père-Lachaise (hence le cénotaphe I toxolabially impaled with a pulpy pinguid purple-puckered bisou) then a dim hutch on Panoyaux, El Poto Hinchado, as well as making intermediate stops at the vomitoria and paregoricons of various nameless nightspots, culminating in a predawn debauch at Ponchadas, un bouchon tapageur et kitsch on Patenne. “¡Ah, este pincho apto,” notre apostrophé ox Litarn, rendered plausibly articulate by said purgo-restorative respites, replies, “me engancha óptimamente! ¡Que chuncho tapeo!” “Cela dit,” I propugn our epistrophe ox Litarn’s pertinaciously prompt priapism, “por supuesto. Segundo being the more labor-intensive, fluxile, ‘hot’ option, as it were, similar to le choix leptonique which la Déesse Réalité loxophorically makes or takes, depending on her mood of the moment, among the ontic phantoms and prolix, too phenomenal by far, sycophantic, pantholious stopgaps, as we have seen, hiving in the abaxile hop-to-itiveness du tout-est-possible with which she proceeds to spin the ghost-spectral, lost-wax-cast sporulations of fictile ‘hopox logomonoi’ (sic) she then weaves together to form the mycorrhizal squamous tissue underlying the “lay” of the laid paper of the pages of her own self-published book of nature the text of which forms a flexile, tophous structure, seemingly more monolithic than polygenous, more aphanitic then porphyritic yet more porphyritic than porphyry itself, and, at least for your common reader, indistinguishable from the metamorphosed marble of make-it-newness, but a talented, trained schizomythologist comme moi, you puṣpa-loving poet, ox philophalitan, can recognize in the hecho-a-mano, seemingly idiófono patchwork, the philo-exotic anthophores (like seeds, they are indigestible, yet like antibodies, they stick) linking, in no particular order, one seemingly disjunct aphorism to another, viz., the aleatoric pont hasardeux connecting, par exemple, Condillac to Naphtali to H.-X. Poe and the schizomythic pont hautain connecting, e.g., Proust’s postmemoirist spontaneity to Gass’s postmodernist sophiastry as well as the combinatoric pont harmonique connecting, for example, Plato’s spherically simple pompholix to Perec’s spotlessly complex hot lipogram and in addition to the symptomatic pont hargneux connecting Nietzsche’s power-sapping French pox to Leiris’s potently polymorphous perversity there is even the psychotic pont hallucinatoire connecting, for instance, Dryden’s “Absalom and Achitophel” to Ximenès Malinjoude by Jouhandeau, not to mention the goetic pont hanté connecting Geist, Kraft, Stoff von von Wurmbrand-Stuppach to Nabokova’s Король, дама, валет, “Облако, озеро, башня,” Pale Fire, Ada, “The Vane Sisters,” inter alia, and let us not forget the brackish, ghoulish, gnomish, but still quite lush pool extinct aphorisms may be fished out of and revived to feed la multiplicité loxophrastique of this kind of purposively oppugnant plagiary which I pursued, probed, pondered, and parsed in the paper I presented at ILE, o ox phallique, and which is as natural and necessary as, for instance, the poets’ positing of, ‘Since feeling is first, posons de la musique avant toute chose,’ or the painters’ posturing, ‘Je ne cherche pas, je trouve, donc die Kunst positiv gibt nicht das Sichtbare wieder, sondern macht sichtbar,’ or even the prosists’ portentously crass topical riposte, ‘Since every work of art is the child of its spoiled age, life imitates art far more than art imitates life.’” By which time we had found ourselves cherishing an auroral hope to lixiviastically fetch an operant conditioner that would if not dissolve at least depilate and cleanse the aforesaid briar-patch on Pyrénées, chez lui, notre phallosophe ox, Litarn. “Je m’en veux de ce vieux jeu meussieudame! [One readily perceives the power such an optimal operant has to launch a potential tirade.] The only plagiaristic pont hardi I’m interested in is the one where you play the naked nymph con Atoca, not philologize con taphonomic fastidiousness anent poca hembra con mucho pantalón, y que vosotras dos me tocan physiquement as I get back atop Chan here pour m’en y faire le pont charnel! [Cela dit, cela fait.] Ah, tu concha potrea, y me hincha поточно, птахою кровавою ею [flowingly, grâce à son sanglant oisillon], borracho, pantera mía! And you, Eric, pon that hermaphrodite loxophrontist’s порочность en práctica!”
§ 115 | Posts
Lucia Hals-Blauli, a scholar of psycho-repression, in her co-authored book, Polizia, Popoli, Pazienti (Police, Peoples, Patients [hereinafter PPP], que j’ai lu à schlüssiger Atem dans l’édition Gallo-Flouziane, Police, Peuples, Patients [also PPP]), writes that “le sujet qui souvent se reproche de ce genre d’expérience, sans cesse établissant en scese ecese di dilatata latence ses tenaces séquences en stases cérébrogénitales, ressent ces cas énergumènes où la realtà tâta librement, libéralement, lugubrement, lubriquement quello che ramosi arti de notre art appelle “la conscience” non seulement als lauchige obscènes ectases enchanteresses in memorias stuproram, aber auch als Literatur [but also as literature].” Nella cella chiusa sul pianerottolo, j’ai lu schlaflos dieser Morgen after a night of the same, in un articolo sulla chiacchierata opera sua qui se trouve dans L’Huis Calamiteux, a psycho-repressive weekly, that the other co-author, Celila Schaumaulisch, a laywoman of sorts, va, along with the very crucial Hals-Blauli, à schématiser their psycho-repressive work at la Pochotèque Publique de Paris (PPP) later this very morning not too far away on Place Hortense mais the problem is qu’il faut qu’on traverse il πάτος at that preposterous partim sideris when some irate epicene factotum spars ridiculously with mop, stairs, runnel, and bucket et y fasse la descente sans se cendrer l’alta tatane with the mycelial Schaum of his or her ochlobalanic chore et passe en scène (c’est le mot juste) sans que cette tête-rapist Soréa — “V’là, ma rose de l’ouest!” La cipollata tata latra già del portico dove canta una serenata, allatta il suo bambino, e talla à tâtons l’aurore chevelue (the enhairèd dawn, indeed!) d’une assez jeune victime. “Mais où est-ce que tu partes, livres à ton port comme ça à c’te bonne heure? C’est ton boche prous Spitmarkx, ou ce scribouillard à frimas Proust, que tu z-ailles z-y z-en lire z-à ton z-enclos privé et rastaquouère, ma chérie rose? V’là? T’ pas’ toi à coup sec!? T’es censé(e) nasarder la délicatesse sensée...?!” Cnissa thymelica capitis hostiae aera incestans — scene esecrabili but I’m already several varas up the pas encor’ lavée, pastis-treacly, larval street, pisoteando the squeaky groaning slush laically charged with the cast-off ochre cáscaras de patata, tlalcacahuatl, used condoms, nativity-scene cestas senegalesas, and, of course, les tançantes scese esecrazioni de ses cétacés, nénésesques mots, puis arrostrando les séquelles cafetardes d’une tasse necesse, calvados inclus, en faisant la descente en casse-séné aux soutes et ensuite the period-piece ascent — senses a-tingle as I pass that jaundiced auberge dont la jeunesse, en actes scélérats, confirme sa déchéance’s essence stupéfiante, ses ecce sensoria’s strumpetry as so many anathèmes efficaces, tenses, ensemencés de singeries involontaires et où j’ai passé ma première nocturne lutetienne naguère — of Clink-and-Court Avenue to, if I’m to believe my Et si à Paris t’es travelo’s advice, Hornano and not Hordener, which former, but not latter, debouches directly into Place Hortense où se trouve la PPP and where I find unsmiling Lucia lashing her gloves against the wide leather belt hiding the seam between her fuchsia all-purpose Garibaldi shirt and her lilac Haushose und identisch gekleidete Celila schäumend pavlovially vor dem Mund, die beide sitting vor moi, the only auditeur aside from l’équipe de l’établissement, at the table upon which stacked copies of the revised, corrected, blue-covered pocket edition of PPP more patiently await the defilement of their twain paraphes and at dix heure quart temperamental Lucia shouts and Celila schaudert in the syncronized louche rounded voyelles de ses accents ensemblement loufoques, “In torpori sum statim turpis, smarotsu sim si alii corporum satis! [In this apathy I’m already (feeling) foul, yet lovingly desirous I’d be if enough other bodies (would only fill up the place)]. Voulez-vous, meussieu, euh,” they hesitate with a scopophiliacal shudder — “Dame,” I fill the quivering gap, — “qu’on affixe notre paraphe sur un de ces trucs-ci?” “Je ne,” I remark as I stand and approach the table, “comme il m’advient par le béat sort, vais prélever pas un, mais plutôt sept livres, à raison de les laisser hors du rapt — vestales iroppoi (色っぽい) de la psychorépression qu’ils soient! — de vos signatures. Rather, colleghe mie,” and I splay thereon the frayed tartan-courche-robed wrappers de l’editio princeps gallo-flouzianae de PPP, “I’d fain you sign celui-là, schamlos besudelte déjà. À propos,” I continue après qu’elles ont déchargé the crooks and crotchets of their autographs in exemplo mio, and flip to the browned page limned with mes sutras promiscues wherein lies the encircled passage cited supra, “of what you write here of how certain subjects encase, essentially, the so to speak ‘Rostov rapes’ reality, as it were, ‘freely, liberally, lugubriously, lubriciously’ inflicts on them ‘als lauchige obscènes ectases enchanteresses’ —” “That should be,” Lucia lashes the page roughly with her gloves und Celila schaut finster drein, “rauchige, not lauchige; smoky, not alliaceous; the error checker of the Teutonic PPP somehow transmitted her coquilleuses pétéchies into the Gallo-Flouziane PPP. In any case, you should read the new pocket PPP, it has a more perfect essence, sans erreurs — jetez ce sénescent, assez glückloses PPP-ci au plus vite!” “In any case,” I meekly yet insubmissively press my point, “there are moments when it seems that my abject yet sensitively erect senses can see, metaphorically at least, a sort of extraneuroglial, schaurige intimation che c’è una realtà al tatto però occultata, altariana, che non è una realtà all’attaccabilità per i sensi, ma solamente per i sogni e per la falta at ‘latent dilatations,’ to quote my own translexification into the Appalachik of your PPP, ‘of those tenacious sequences of cerebrogenital stases in the incessant eceses enacted by the experience’ of, for instance, the dipsomachal sluiting o malévola lucha sicalíptica I suffer from when involuntarily vertrockelisch à l’aube and am thus obliged to endure something like Proust’s mirage-like immanences’ scese estatiche similar to the glimmers, smoky (rauchige) and cuprous, Spitmarkx attributes to das Unbundtraumlichtend of thought itself —” “Aspetta! Eliros vṛṣatas de ce,” Lucia lashes demandingly, “tzahualli schizofrenico!?” und Celila schaukelt the rhythmic, palilalic, aushörigen echo-refrain of simultaneous translexification: “Ricorda il posto mitico di cielo che Dedalo bambino era allora — Recall the mythical Säule von Himmel die dass Dedalus, a child he was then — s’arrampica affinch’a sulla cima blu ci ha lassù trovato un nido di Crinea accessibile solamente per chi all’austerità d’iniziazione ha già passato, ha gustato sensuellement il miele selvaggio — shimmied up to find in the blue crown up there a Crénée’s nest, accessible only by those who have, having passed through adolescence, eaten sessualmente di miele selvaggio. Ricorda ch’il sua ladroneria audace di miele, e di piume d’aquila, la scherma colle api nonostante, gli trapianta la forza mordace per si riarrampica il posto mitico di cielo — Recall his audacity when, later, avec less puissances entées cérémonieusement by the stings he suffered when stealing the honey, by the eagle feathers stuck to his honey-smeared body, he reshimmies up the mythical Säule von Himmel — e torna al nido di Crinea pieno della scienza celeste e da lassù chiappandola, invece di laggiù — and returns to that same Crénée’s nest, accessing it avec des sciences entassées célestement, and taking her from above (lassù), rather than below (laggiù).” The translexiclausal hocketry of antiphonal sentences ceases; Celila chausse la coda sola: “The point being that l’héro confronts a clash à lui-même, nicht gegen autrui; a clash latent, potential, schlauchartig versteckter in all of us, and which experience activates.” Lucia lashes sharply for emphasis und Celila schaut um sich, “Encore hay nadie más? Allora. [They stand and proceed towards the door.] Come with us to café. Do you know of one not too, de trop de monde?” Quelqu’un(e) du personnel de la PPP had already trundled my seven copies of PPP to the serva-relati postes d’encaissement, whither I scurry whilst trying to restrap le travois entraînable de mes impedimenta and simultaneously searching therein for my bourgeois, vert, plastral-patterned groat-bourse à piel storta, variopinta di gavial and restuffing my Gallo-Flouzianian PPP into the former and replying, “C’è un postino vicino che si chiama, je pense, L’Arietta, L’Atalanta, or something like that.” “C’est,” chirps in l’alerta, servile, post-adolescently gaunt, amusingly name-tagged (“Mårisù Šprot”) cashier, “L’Atlas. Très privé. Obligeant personnel. Bien discret. [From the door Lucia lashes a loosely rippled, “Tata! À L’Atlas alors!” und Celila schaufelt sich vor die ditto.] Ça fait alors, selon mon postulat, trois par seven pour le rabais, et en plus le —,” her voice sinks to a conspiratorial, schlauweislichem murmur, “soit saptatí pour Mrs. S —,” murmur again, then, triumphantly solving her sums tropaically with a beautiful flourish of clavium et unguium, elle m’assène à sec: “Cent sept balles pour les sept! A’ r’voir. Tack. N’oubliez pas votre facture.” Which she plucks out of the machine and lets flutter down onto my open palm, palsied slightly since, “à c’te bonne heure” du matin, I’m normally softly enfolded by and within clamorless, prastītalose rêves (untrammeled Träumen).
§ 116 | Exudate
In a side street permeated smerciatamente by wanton imitation matière de Tibet et esprit de Ramses à l’odeur intarissable de burnt ordure, ailanthus blossoms, and rancid salt sandspurry called Rue Nidor-à-Trépas that runs like a much-circuited narrow cobbled ox-path of Gertrude or Ainesdorp up the sharp slope between Rue d’Artois and Rue Ortilia du Haut-Andorre in the 8th, le bar-café-tabac L’Atlas sustains an amiable ecology of stock practitioners of the ebriate métier, debtors of hazard (routine worshippers of chance), sedate criminals, sated pétrisseurs de pâtes, meretricious exporters of yellow, tiny mainsprings for use in miniature dorophones, futures-exchange-traders sempiternally lamenting la hausse tendancielle du temps raté, residents of a neighboring aumônerie, and assorted exponents des entreprises dématérialisées one will find only — expounding as they do upon l’œuvre de Guattari, Derounian, Derrotù and Cioran; rude, tasting of vomit, yawning from le tabagisme, seedy, sleepless, slimy — in a town like Lutèce, mired as he, she, or it is dans sa biture à rondins mignons de quelque ripoue d’art ringarde, triste, mespensante de este ridícula teoría drunks like the aforementioned tetrad — nourished on rien que de tels projets fumeux — posit, viz., that some mechanical automaton called un ordinateur will one day replace, for instance, not only cette incomparable fouterie Ms. Petra’s deliriously debonair adepts mete resplendently out to their teatime bedtricks, par exemple, but also ce trame-sédimenté, tamisé, red-calfskin-bound carnet où directement j’écris à détemporalisées plumées de mon Ramée-esprit’d Stresemann ces lignes! This Atlas, however, was not L’Atlas suggested par la libraire und topologischly sought for par moi after having tiré mes sept déraisonnablement coûteux pocket exempla sic virginea (as well as my Open Sesame credit card’s tame receipt) from ditto’s dainty but quite flinty mani owlishly clawing at them, but rather le lieu dont I arranged to have a rendez-vous at with a certain douroucouli dour(b)oise named Vanessa Talpox, a former fellow many-nitiditated être, bedmate itinérante, and intimate prêtresse de rites anversois of la trim tiède bête de l’indompté désir, Teresa van Deux, currently of Owlstain, which latter had suggested during one of our ardent instantiations of Tradine Oru in the back room of the Dirna Route Café avant my departure adoringly sworn adieu to reciprocally from that city, that I had as good a chance as any hermaphrodite à running into the former at the aforesaid L’Atlas, sa, Vanessa Talpox’s, that is, favorite buvette de brime-taille du tout Paris de tes téméraires dreams, etc., i.e., un lugar où te drinker vachement tout ton soûl since ladite “nourrice” functioned, selon le bourdon étirant de l’on-dit Teresa s’empressait de me faire entendre, as factotum of the spice trade, messenger of the solecism trade, errand-et-oui-meussieudame-girl of the see-me-strip trade, as well as cocotte de bière at midnight, whence I set off au sein de ce sidéré temps travailleur dont I rapturously was intent during on revising my translexifications des flèchecritures apprêtées de Spitmarkx, polishing them, à l’aide de my snide pert Stresemann et une assez sourcilleuse armée dictionnairique, into the three-pronged format readers of The Meaner Side came to know et admire sectarishly more recently but avant that neurorid series of antiphenomenal entelechies (AE) I experienced ce matin balivernier d’automne estivalesque au Bois not long after I arrived in Lutèce, dream-singing my way with the help of my handy guide to the frolicsome streets de Paris et ainsi calligraphiant my own intriguing, méticuleux, potential vade-mecum à Tous les Atlas de Paris et mes trébuchements là-dedans from one L’Atlas, starting with, if I remember correctly, un verre de pastis tempéré de l’eau indrotroïcienne at the rather nondescript bar-tabac-café L’Atlas situated on the corner of Rue Tiron d’Abkhazia and Rue Lenoir d’Autrefois in the 3rd or the 11th or possibly both, to another, e.g., un demi de bière tattvique at the brass-tempered, étiqueté zinc du tabac-bar-café L’Atlas, solitary haven from all the sidewalk hawkers of touristic, made-ere-Erehwon-were fetishes — gnomici gnomi, Twanyirrika (тёмный twain of mythical tjurungas) factices, dream-evaders, time-pesterers, desperate Mithraic sete demoniache, und so weiter — and doorway yelpers of fausse cuisine — Selonian, Twi, Myanmarese (dite “Streptocaucasian” by those in the know), Tyani, Mingrelian, Ligure, Indo-Tartaric, Sami, et Erdesserin, to list only the more conventionally credible imitations — on that étroit(e) strip of Rue Héron du Traînard-et-Rouissoir that runs from Rue du Sourire d’Antan to Rue Driant in the 1st thence into la zona torrida, une ou deux absinthes à y — mano intwining celle-là d’une tribade met iterum serotinae rudi — prendre à una meseta d’esprit erótico du café-bar-tabac L’Atlas, secret sextablishment secreted imaginatively away behind some out of the way orifice smeared tactfully with distracting graffiti in a narrow juncture ordained to be right there (your standard-issue map’d steer its ereptative erethisms elsewhere, but my vade-mecum will promise a Credetur Hic Erit Dea Semele to any and all who contact me sidereally) where Rue Rodin tapers off into Rue Courtaud Renoir somewhere between the 16th and the 14th and where among the inebriated et métissé crowd of out of work eporediae, temptresses of all persuasions, unattached barbers, and etc. au comptoir, I thought I spotted Sri Tony Miwa, nursing un ballon de sancerre and outillant les convives flanking him with his wry Timonian wit, glance up at me and all too pusillanimously out the aforesaid orifice dart, seemingly to fore- or after-shadow, as it were, that evening when, chez Nobe Arinami, Tony, writer now of a weekly column for Нахальный Matin, would de volta o de novo me trair — denuo and/or iterum, that is, be, due to his shameless self-interest, prised meanly away from me by my hopelessly unigendered sister, empathyless and oddly inarticulate but who, like me, is no stranger to the heteroclite, bitter, edematous taste pride’s emergent recognition of the extremes despair terrorises and tergiversates one with (I don’t mind if the verbs, the nouns, the adjectives, the prepositions, the metaphors, the tenses, the syntax, et même tout le récit de masque en mocassin in mytowagnerovském toto are all “wrong” according to the “grammar” your preachers of “good old Albionian wit” mystify as the precepts of proper “prose” for it is not “proper Albionian” I’m wyting to myself at all, but something much more accurately descriptive of schizomythic process as it sociophysiologically plays upon the subject’s sensoria — remind me to dilate upon this to the two Swiss ladies I’m heading off to delate or dilatate myself to or with or vice-versa) and so I allowed myself to be, à la one who, by submitting to the clastic remède — “Bois pour oublier,” etc. — de cette crise détamante of one’s remembered, tâté itineracy, simultaneously adumbrates and obliterates, prised metempirically out of the red light district altogether whereupon I found myself in le tabac-café-bar L’Atlas sirotant du punch amidst a long-haired koinonia mit wyvern’d banner assisting at the учёный matin-wassail of невозмутимый Onan, two-fisted and взаимный on a tweedy, abstract, much more academic street, rue de l’Université de Camuson between Rue du Roi Narte and Rue du Rat Noir in the 7th but before I managed to extricate myself from that Atlas, somehow I came to in front of the shuttered emprises abandonnées of le defunct café-tabac-bar L’Atlas sordidly sore and simpering in the infrequently trafficked aisselle where Rue Dorian turns sharply into Rue Bourdain, retracing my surmised ceterarum foutraquierescent steps back to where Boulevard Diderot unravels its décor affairiste, empâté, dressé de rien que des boutiques des boutiques et encore des boutiques across the western topwaste of the 12th in order to, for the nonce, take the metro. By the time notre jamais preste, très probabiliste, trop gréviste, assez intimiste, toujours funeste, fruste, vaste, vétuste, et aduste mère’d peristaltically expelled me from her matrices édéagiques at Square du Rotin where I was able to more or less dissolve, à l’aide d’un café-calva at some generic “Bar du Métro,” les vernices dermeatetraspermites (décoction cireuse et marasméenne) that her reticulate tripes’d smeared me with during the passage from Waïtinný-Diderot à Rungis-Décrémé at which station j’ai fait la correspondence afin d’arriver ad supra, and then walked past the tenacious stench, evocative of used jesters’ diapers teeming with Dermestes artipes, d’un petit commerce de taissons empaillés en aval of the aforementioned side street, ramped my way upstream through the planowïy matinal cascade à rudération (this being the drain-route of least resistance, apparently, down to the nearest disjoint yoni-maws of our subterranean mother) of goateed Tsarist emperor–impersonators, and entered, at last, as aloof and charming as when I set out the previous evening, the bar-café-tabac L’Atlas, supposedly to meet there that lass, Vanessa Talpox, whom Teresa decía tanto sobre en Owlstain, I was, indeed, able to refresh myself with un demi de bière à tetterwort to preclude any pox I might have been exposed to en route, Indra willing, but was told by the rather chummy patron érudit that that lass was no longer employed at this Atlas parce qu’elle “s’est fait évoluer à un autre” Atlas somewhere in the 18th, and so I hope(d) that that lass, Vanessa Talpox, I had set out to meet way back when I first arrived in Paris, but never had, would be at this Atlas whose amplae amphorae I trundled, or had trundled, or was and am now trundling my heterolexitherical esthete’s serrate impedimentorum scriptoriorum towards.
§ 117 | Atlas’s
With my right hand holding the leash (a cullionly tallat atador of untanned panther’s caul, stupendously strong despite being in cauda extenuato), and the left one thrust casually forth as both counterweight and cutwater, I haul la scettica, scherzosa, scattante pet of my réfractaire travois past les éclatants agents grenouillardésiques of Numbakulla schiamazzando their matinal hula, sciacquando e schiarendo sidewalk and street, each with un balai schlurfend into the gurgling alcantarilla schauerliche formless masses of archetypal vers, Aristotelian larvae, orts, pestilential menses, day passes dépassés, day planners surannés, day packs caducs, trash à untel, mais trésor à tel pavonine infra since, as soon as the aforementioned formless masses touch the flashing waters of the rill-o’-rim’s ducha à sillon, they transform, comme des morceaux détrempés de papier japonais splayed mentally in Proust’s thé à la runcination, into fresh mermaids of the littoral; fluvial, staunch, estuarine, silty naiads; shiny-pelted manas-shattering ménesses cétacées; nereids diaphanous and damp — toutes, des déliquescentes, séance-soustrayantes, essence-escarbouillantes déesses, canescent-limbed and smelling of sea-foam and snow-melt, and so thus in a socioprophylactic flash, a lucid, vivid, fulgid, splendid, solid and yet liquid presence nasce tessutamente и сестринским from what had been the psychomachic mattina’s viscid, squalid, sordid, fetid, putrid, rancid, lurid, insipid, fungoid tense, y plasmando tutto, tutte, e tutti into the glistening ripario-samudrian reality, animated and aqueous, of Square Hortense’s scène escamoteuse où je vois non seulement un, mais encore deux Atlas! Suddenly, as one says, I find myself making the repeated slimy sannionian lay titubations of dilemmatic incertitude, exasperated ineptitude, axenic solitude, exanimate exudative gesticulatory disquietude axiologique of one who flails achuladamente entre deux atermoyantes eaux détraquées, so to speak, swimming against the anaclasial, churlish, devilish, ticklish aculado corriente contradictorio qui trébucha allusivement (allusively) contre le thalassin ménadale type-specimen of Oncorhynchusia allegorica var. skullachiasmatica I’ve become since, not only are both Atlases equally far from both me and each other but sur un des rivages il y a, antinomiquement et patati et patata, “L’Atlas” gallo-francilien in front of which I can just make out the pendulously stamened panicles, uttarāhśundhyū amidst the sun-shot crowd, of mes tovaritchs au lilas faisant l’asilaire signe universel — paucal lashing of gloves repeated exuberantly — à someone I can only assume is moi, while sur l’autre suchständigem rivage, in front of the southern “Atlas’s” cumatili umbrae, the ponderous prismaninea-styled pistils à fanal of my fuchsial allies are raising bacchanalian fists at ditto, or vice-versa. Seemingly, thus, our fusty, busty, untrusty penladies, manifestly aiming to both allure and elude extant me, have holothurianly taillé themselves par la taille en deux étances, essences, étantités, οὐσῐ́αις, pimply atmans, Seiendheiten, or other Heraclitusial lachlustige whatnot, underestimating, of course, mes hermaphrodites pouvoirs à schizomythically abhilasulcate myself by means of a process involving an initially painful (ābhīla, आभील) sulcate constriction resulting eventually in a transgressively (abhilaṅghas, अभिलङ्घस्) ecstatic scission into deux étanches yet intercommunicative, leaping (abhilaṅghana, अभिलङ्घन) schizomorphs and so presently, while my travoisless other avatar posits leer-worthy eventa vinculata at L’Atlas in the northern lucus Astartes of the square, much of what follows occurs simultaneously with ditto, but yet, given the necessarily sequential nature — “Tschüss!” — of narration, which inevitably risks turning these mnemonoclastic fichas ulalumesticas into a novelist’s trap, a redactor’s travail (especially given our stylist’s “maenad-penchant” à lusus trebaces), a reader’s oval tears pitter-pattering onto the page, it comes about that, en suivant the sound sociophysiological principle that the most recently presented stimuli tends to be the most behaviorally salient and Empsonianly massed petit à petit dans l’engramme, a single τάγμα sulci ἅλῐοι (sea-salty sulcated segment) proceeds dakṣiṇalatīyando (by creeping southward) with its or my or our travois towards this latter Saxo-Appalachified “Atlas’s Café,” upon entering which I ask la verseuse if she is indeed the huntress, l’acuta ninfa lista, salvaje, y sabia whose merest chahut stuns, la creatura de tantos talantes, l’amie dyspnéique de mon isara, svelte protégée de multis paradisis prolatis, Teresa van Deux, a tempestuous Terpsichore formerly of Antwerp, currently of Owlstain — but she’s either une verseuse encore trop discrète, or simply a reluctant hussy, for all she does is lead me past, in synch with her own cottage-and-peasant smile, yawning shopfront herds of beer-pansed laymen tipsily gloating over their bloated bedaines, past men lying raffishly in wait for suaver proie — salt-stung seamen, dainty splenetic poets, velar artists whose dandy lisp emanates more like a mucous-cast lure than a speech impediment sly sanatoria failed to cure — in the occult and oculate deuxième bar to the threshold of la salle au fond where the busts of our flowery friends sit, pale, many bocks déjà consommés, cassés en cent éclats sur la table of their booth against the far wall and on the floor tout autour and once again I find myself making the exasperated, exultant-seeming gestures à la un cthulhusson culbuté and pulled feet-first du vagin de la nasty semper fecundam terram for in muro dicto sunt pensa variata objecto-speculativa portraits, See Law’s among them. “You are familiar mit dem Werke,” Lucia lashes the wall-hung work in question, “von our colleague, ja? Sie ist geboren und raised in a Lisu chalet in glacial Lushui sondern wohnt in der Schweiz jetzt aber has a summer lodge not far from ours in der Maltatal at the far end of the valley in the Hohe Tauern. Lustschaffend ist sie, ja?” (La freckled verseuse, meanwhile, firmly clasping my free arm from behind, leads me and my catatonic travois over to the booth and with a sort of hip-check qua taut nuchal-stressed thrust, pushes me into the booth, sweeps her strong, tobacco-stained fingers over the table [and the potsherds, thus, onto the floor] and places thereon three more earthenware flagons of bock.) “Her subject is often her own more introvert sister, a placid, shy, vielleicht sehr memmenhafter,” Celila schauspielerisch wechselt See’s essence nacreuse et cannelée en simple convexe datum generis, “plagiophilous chercheur au slant stultifying stupefacient phénomène, as you see here, du refoulement comme nous mais who married when she was still a little girl a gentle fatherly investigator of the speedy lamantins and spindly manatees of the Arathu —” “Cunts! Lesbian y Litavan,” I lay tiffishly, beer in hand, into them since — “menopausal cunts!” — there’s only one person who lives in Switzerland, paints my See Law, and is also from Lushui — “Callaos!” I call huantement their bluff, quaff in a lista, saboreante gorgorotada la birra, and rise to — part slave of habit, part innovator à lisse prétention — deliver a toast sprechgesanglich to la retratista’s opere влиятельных, or so I’d have them think, but really the following harangue dont le but rhétorique may be conceived of as a rapidly flung (and sung) sexatudesial atlatl-ataque composed of object-predicative, that is, haft-head, rhetorical “hammer-pairs” to the hafts of which are feathered the following pronomina genitiva, respectively, my, their, my, their, their, my, namely, meta-análisis, flaunt; Schauer, stimulate; sabiduría, prove; test, saltear; porucha, taunt; lesson, teach, to wit, “Are you not some damned sly espiants of the brachytrichous sort; varietals, species of fuchsial alguacilas; hloupé, hltanové (faucal), hlasité, hlídání emissaries of Knavest Realia (sportively dubbed by me, I might add, “Our Synapses-Minante Lady of Elisions”); vile teratosparsa caduta exempla [sic] hallucinatoires et справlos of purplish, açuladoras, sénéchalal Suissesses en tenace chasse censée stencilista, fanaisonnesque, hobbyhorsical, fantaisiste, and Alcofribasial, luchsartige whatnot, mais en réalité trop svasante, très parasite, voleuse même et qui, comme des cténaires verts, potaliques, sparlati, et voraces, ne se cessent jamais à ravir les post-temporels, triés avatars de nos heimatlos rêves, pirater les pré-moteurs nautch-lassboys et sultan(a)s rechuté(e)s de nos égarements honteux, edaces, nasse, et cénesthésiques, et arracher las unstuttering trans-sulcate Huīxtocihuātl átlátánkakat, tranquilas Chalchiuhtlicue, y Chicomecōātl talatalanokat aux amphigames, hermétiques prince(sse)s tenaces, epäselvät (proteristically vague), et polymorphes comme moi et qui se mettent à sucer, thus, la Présence-en-ses-stacheliger-Sträucher aus dem dachziegelartigem Sein von meinem Alchera-stunt, supreme, spiny, and saltimbanquiste?!” I smash the empty Seidel as annuntiatio pro rebus veniendo and hold out my hand for a fresh, emmoitante, emmuscadinante, emmoustachante, slurp-rimmed chope, from which I more calmly chupar pendant my laisse-led pet’s purring repos contre my hip as I escuchar leur riposte. “Abbiamo in realtà previsto,” strilla Lucia shrilly, “a dirti che a noi non ci ha, a braccia aperte, sperato la Svizzera, benché per vasta tirolese montagna abitiamo in Chiusa, al lato di Bolzano nel Alto —” a très privé semblant de remous intime danse (plays) sur son visage (face), curtailing what was bound to be an obscene tancée session of mawkish remembrance. But perhaps it’s to be expected that beings of such an anṛtamayal, bahumāyal, aharṣamayal, māyāmayal, intichiumally botched semplicità yinalistica should be jealous of my painfully bloated bladder, bowels, and the means at my disposal, so to speak, of relieving them et donc sto per stasarli ove tu facci queste cose, mais sans, as an inapt lesser travoisiste might do, asking them to “watch my stuff,” indeed sans même (even) leur dire, “Ho bisogno di fare pipi,” instead skipping off, faithful travois skipping along behind me, down to les soutes where I install myself (je m’installe) behind the sleazy door, travois atop my unimpaired lap, my sane instruments of heterolexicalia — lush glossaires à torves platinotypes; laminated snug stacks of fichas a llullistica maquinaria; prestes, voltigeants, necesse-ces-tirs-à-volées-pratiqués-a-mano-par-vital-Stresemann-mio calepins; and семь tyroliens exempla nova des bleuâtres livres — atop travois and, hearing Spanish-heeled steps crunching across the gravel, I stop, stare, and — no, that’s not right — I must mean, and hearing Spanish-heeled steps clicking down the marble escalier à trots vespasiennesques, I try to unleash a begeisterte viral aposematic fluxion, but it seems that l’esprit soave, ringuainante della mia madre haunts scalturamente even this virginal-to-me establishment as I’m unable to synchronize Freud’s clitoral vas pesterans with Janet’s medial pyšný-jako-pávlovian meatus, Lacan’s urethra epicena with Clérambault’s theca surnuméraire, Horney’s pain-mantled sphincter’s alatus humilis internalis with Breuer’s Tunhalt’s cauda exterioris humorosa avec ceux-là de mon (dés)encapsulant autre schizomorphe dans l’autre schutzloser Örtlichkeit des unseres Unhalt’s autre café interstitially interfering somewhere between Pinel’s manse adyta and Kraepelin’s συνδα τμήσεως ιμονῐ́ᾱς avant que Celila, schaulustig, me pose la question de l’autre suant, schäbigem côté de la porte, “Ma perche allora sept livres t’as assssetés [en ceceando sssilbadoramente]?” “Aha! Tu as très clunisiennement,” I address the ambulatory allotrope Realität’s sviluppo recondito ha scolpito, according to her modes balisés, pendant my absence sensée, scatologique, précipitée, “comblé tes troubles! Mais je ne vais aux chiottes para sverlarmi un discours par este volatile que sos, ma per allora pisser! Vattene!” But the repulsive parrot está ahí “casually” [her palabra, not mine] para tirar pelos vestales des ennuyeux, détaillés crânes de la répétition: “Ma perche allora sept livres t’as assssetés [se cecea sentenssssieusement encore!]?” “Parce qu’il y a intaillablement,” I say, spandex ad utendum talos meos, “encore sept variétés, alors, de l’ambiguité dont on rénovera sept arts libéraux déterministiquement peut-être; sept svaras triôlés d’un raga (lush scalar tune, tonal, estimé, and psychomotorically satisfying) et sapta tāla latiendo tout autour; seven cenet secessae supra hominis fortunam around which the intemerate saptaṛṣi revolve; ainsi que sept Pléiades man synchronisiert seine Werke und Tage mit of which latter il y a intarissablement sept in a lay iterative period called by our Gallo-Flouzianian laity and friends, aptly, “semaine” — need man say, list, palaver anent, madly spiessen upon, and whatnot, more? Perhaps l’œuvre à sept столы разный мудрости which l’autre auteur slants charmingly to his or her own purposes while his or her darling dark-haired cleaning-lady hems remembrances of things past in with, hein? Пусти-moi wie ein guter Leser писать, tovaritsch au lilas!”
§ 118 | IN
Now, many of those who’d cast, in the unregenerate innocence of their aesthetico-etherian enthusiasm, ein bloßer Blick at the work of the painter noted supra, venaient romantiquement y déconnaître (misrecognize) in the expressible manifest content, or Inhalt, de ladite œuvre, visions of alabastrine angelic babes smiling with imperforate inner bliss, beaming with supralunar intelligence, crowned with penumbraless nimbi, surrounded by bellissime Anbeterinnen, strumming sublissime nablia, descanting anent the various sectarian enticements promis par le messianisme, blowing celestial flutes, and so on, tandis qu’il vient rancuneusement par contre à nous autres schizomythologues who’ve been en train de divastiguer the following Flaubertian nexus of concepts even since avant our Parisian blemishment, our Lutetian renfrognement, starting way back at Château Methuen, for instance, when reading under the Emersonian trees between the chelonian terrarium and the vespertine ranarium, Marie Bonaparte, in nuce, sur “L’essentielle ambivalence d’Eros” — il nous tient, par contre, de reconnaître (recognize), per mezzo di subalterni Anhalten balisés minutieusement in random-seeming cryptic crosshatchings in the shadows, in the lurid, zuhälterische figures in the surrounding negative space, or Umhalt, insidiously riant en se moquant en ridicule tout ce qui tient narquoisement d’avoir lieu autour, that is, in the positive space, or Imhalt, où l’on se tient rancement de s’entreconnaître (mutually know each other) that what we are dealing with are less imbiancate allegorie of divine transcendence and more stygian intérieurs obscurs portraying the libens μισανθρωπία (merry misanthropy) which, comme l’irréprimable, sinsustancial vibratilidad of the tellurian Interhalt subtending la protéiforme amibe’s slinky motility, dislimns beauty and renders human intercourse as inimblazoned with spintrian enchantment as it is possible maniacally for chthonian terrible simian-shaped aliens, misbegotten brainless imbeciles in bas-mondain sables, minus habens slimily poking criminal бесстыдство into their parvulissime anbrüchigen pubens ami’s limosum antrum whilst fondling and insufflating their fellow sous-mâles’ binious dont on tient narcissiquement de s’autoconnaître (know oneself) à tel degré par le tant irréfléchi bliss amnésique du Forthalt que l’on tient arnaqueusement de méconnaître (be ignorant of) le vagal biais mnésique du Vorhalt et donc on tient raninement (batrachomachically) de s’entrereconnaître (reciprocally recognize) le faisable minstrelsy of the Tunhalt avec the latent, inarticulate, rinnegato abbastanza spesso content, or Unhalt, of the foregoing qu’on vient narrativement de connaître — just came to narratively know. Yes, I’m able instantly, instinctively, insistently to recognize (reconnaître) that what had started out as a drab simile snowballed into an entirely different anicroche de paraboles incroyables de devinettes insolubles d’indications indéchiffrables d’insanités inextricables, mais n’importe.
§ 119 | Ohcer
§ 120 | Elate
§ 121 | Ityalian
§ 122 | Lance
§ 123 | Igwee
§ 124 | Sihlaucal
§ 125 | Ulna
§ 126 | CACA
§ 127 | Tagna
§ 128 | Tlaatlata
§ 129 | Inwit
§ 130 | Sentences ascèse
§ 131 | AH
§ 132 | Esaa
§ 133 | Shmeem R
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Copyright © 1996–2019 Michael Sean Strickland