Sixth Pod
The nonexistence of God
§ 292 | Into My Grave
Velasto Prastier’s nostalgic erstwhile “memoir” of his childhood in Norlia. Critics praised the extensive Shakespearian echoes in this work, but, alas, have accepted it at face value. This work forms the core of my study, Prastier’s Infernos (PI), where I detail the extensive parallels between IMG and various works of R. Roussel. Rather than being inexplicable cases of “plagiaries by anticipation,” I explain these as being due to the perfidious otiose nature of reality, to entangled nonlocality. Has been described as “a tenderly written memoir with Shakespearian themes [that] can be read as deeply personal account of the losses that tyranny and exile produce” (C. Campbell, Exile in Cairo. [Review of: H. Matar, Anatomy of a disappearance. 236pp. Penguin.] TLS, 11 March 2011, p. 21).
§ 293 | I’m imaginary
As a corollary to the axiom, Only when alone am I real, it follows that, in the “tipsy turmoil” [M. S. Strickland, Rime Argile (Clay Rhymes), Double Sonnet Nº 6. Owlstain and Paris: Editions MSS, 2011.] of the Agore Bar, for instance, I’m imaginary. But yet, it certainly doesn’t feel as if I’m imaginary.
§ 294 | Moéu Noäu Nin
Moéu, lacuna of my rare art’s law, firing of my clay rhyme’s kiln. My nene, my yin, my evin berx reeking of some other cunt’s halo. I unscrewed my head from the vice of pillows in order to hear her response, but there was none. Only later (I disdain vulgar epithets, but such temporally burdened nonce words as this certainly do deserve one), after I began compiling my Case Against Reality (CAR), did I realize that Mlle Nin is a key piece of antiphenomenal evidence (AE) for ditto. For the evening of 23 July 1996, as I was descending, and she ascending, the bronze decor of the stairway of numéro onze, rue Poulet, Lutèce, dix-huitième, Ile de Frankreich, Kingdom of Gaul, was not the first time that “our eyes found calm mooring in each others’ mirrored state” of rime argile. No. That moment of noetic moaning came four months and some eleven days earlier by the calendar, when I was on my way to my nine am rendez-vous chez Nobe Arinami to pay her my second month's rent. Not used to being up before noon, my matutinal sponging had been rather otiose and unthorough. In the metro at the so-called rush hour, at the head of a car, in a strapontin facing the rear, in that ugly throng there she was, her fire-fangled beauty blazing impassive into the receding tintone monotony. From my similar perch at the opposite, headlong end of the very same car, I imparted a conjectural English to my debonnaire stare.
Both of us wore size nine — that was apparent immediately.
In Māori, her name means ‘little black thorn coral’ (‘ēkaha kū moana in Hawaiian). Also, Maori moe ‘to sleep’; moemoeaa ‘to dream’; ngau ‘to bite’; moana ‘sea’; au ‘I’; nono ‘to sit’; thus, moeu : I dream [while] noau : I sit’.
§ 295 | No sé si no leo
§ 296 | Ishtar’s Hand
§ 297 | Teh Larubatu
§ 298 | Melos e artes
§ 299 | Out of the air
§ 300 | As a finalist
As a finalist in the Journal of Yazdehan Studies’s “Yazdehan Areas of Be(com)ing in the Human Universe” (see YABHU) essay contest, I was awarded the chance to sojourn in Lutèce for six months à fin to further refine my clitalytical skills as well as revise my research on __
, provided I could secure travel fare,
culminating in the presentation of my research at the International Elevenses Conference (IntEC) chez Nobé Arinami on November 11.
§ 301 | Mnasiakakoe
(remembrance of wrongs, past injuries, bearing malice, being revengeful, etc. μνησῐκᾰκέω, μνησῐκᾰκία, μνησίκακος, μνησῐκᾰκητικός, etc.; μνάσιον, μναύσιον esculent species of sedge Cyperus esculentus [chufa sedge, yellow nutsedge, tigernut sedge, earth almond] the tubers of which are used to make orxata de xufes; μνασίον Cyprian measure of grain)
"Before planting my scholia, however, allow me to acknowledge the profound encouragement and support—heterolexical, translexical, and always promiscuously textual—visited upon me by two gracious palearctic migrants to our Tetrastic regions, my colleagues at ISOCPHYS, Bernard Vighdan and Arnaut Raymond: they, more than anyone else, will recognize that whatever smut may blight this script, owes its wordism to that sprawling paperist AGSAD of conid sloimciks, those prominent inexplicable lexical berdîwars conjunctivised by spry dragomaniacs and slangy liars to make divastigatory mnasiakakoe (“bad seeds”) in sex logurs."
§ 302 | Girtablullu
§ 303 | Y or en Barbès
§ 304 | Inuhka Bloip
I do not doubt for a moment that not a few of U Readers will fail, owing to the urdostoist distortion, or lexical lensing effect, caused by Nolan E. Deal’s supernova of a novel, Contra Diem, to bail that slew of boiling errors hauling across the sleazy baulk line of your libidinous kula, and therefore mistakenly conclude that my “thirsty dirty thigh girl” (Johnson 2010: § 195) from Blorhn en WY, IB (b. 1987), or Saian as her alibi in name, act, and sex logur would have it when she’s out patrolling the public planks with a labial nouba in Ishtar’s Hand or riffing a Halbi polka on the piano in Romer’s Samba or obnubilating the goggle-eyed Appalachian ploucs with her kohl-rimmed loin-link locked into the ditto of an albino poilu on the Playground of Taboo in Glamporium, is somehow akin to a pair of questionable academists on loan from the aforementioned tome, namely: “Dr. Templeton Blope, of the University of the Outer Hebrides, who belonged to that British school, arisen in the wake of the Michelson-Morley Experiment, of belief in some secret Agency in Nature which was conspiring to prevent all measurement of the Earth’s velocity through the Æther” (pp. 131–132). And: “‘What cannot be resolved inside the psyche,’ put in the Expedition alienist, Otto Ghloix, ‘must enter the outside world and become physically, objectively «real». Por ejemplo, one who cannot come to terms with the, one must say sinister unknowability of Light, projects an Æther, real in every way, except for its being detectable’” (pp. 132–133). As I said supra, any of U Readers who unblinkingly buy into such bunk would be choking down a veritable biali of errors, for the truth is that, while that book was as yet, not only unread by my Elmo teasers, but also unborn to my soral esteem, I first saw our nubile Fukaro-Intrussyan bint in the role of a backwing paramour in the New Lexican première of Larry Lath’s Aunt Smaragdina’s Parandrus as put on at Glamporium, Sunday, July 13, 2003. Afterwards, we nibbled each other’s blinis and kipped our inky nubs together during a drunken halo in the hula bop that followed for the elect among the house front. The very next afternoon (CAR!), during lunch at Utressa, I watched her polish off a mess of fried hoki and boiled poi followed by a whole roasted lubina (I was myself enjoying a pilau d’okapi e lapin a l’ail e l’apio followed by the bistro’s famously refreshing salad of nopal and Inula buds). An opal ankh dangled between her hyoid and her Tixputo huipil’s décolletage; a solferino spike of wild lupin whorls slashed the anthracite plane of her hair. The lanky, hulking, phial-swilling, bolo-throttled punk seated en face d’elle continued to stare blankly, nihilistically at the kiblah of his lust despite the punning koan (“Hola, bip Inuk! Hail, ibn Poku!”) I hailed them with when I scurried past their table on my way out. I have a phobia for lunks of his sort. She, however, like some uxorious caliph’s Nubian ikon flashing her teeth in the nikau-frond shade of a palki, responded with an energetic, though painfully truncated haiku: “Oh, hi, D. I.” What am I saying? I first poked into her one evening some three years earlier during the oiled-up knob-hobbing and bi-punkah’d lap-blink preceding my precipitous exodus from Lutèce. I was descending rue de Belleville towards, and she ascending from, that tetrathecal metro station planted like a parasitoid’s oospore by (in the agentive, not the locative, sense) the horntail of Buttes Chaumont. CAR, CAR, CAR, CAR, CAR, CAR, CAR, CAR, CAR, CAR, CAR all over the place! At the level of a mural proclaiming, in an elegant rondate hand, “Il faut se méfier des mots,” her hooded visage opened towards mine in a floodlit mane, tactful and winsome, of invitation. “Mais, c’est toi, Dominique! Nous avons étudié la bio ensemble.” Too bonked, too glum to volley her lobbed serve, I nipped the game short with a dead-hooped and boorish “Impossible!” and walked on. She calls that hunk her “better half” now, and is possibly all knocked up with more than plainspeak and manly bulk. O, my pink-lipped pika child, my indelible lion hub, my pliable bilai mottled with [cough] hipblains now, mon inoubliable hibou! Neither in Kabul, nor Hanoi, nor Bali, nor even Ulan Bator will I ever nab the like of you again.
§ 305 | Gasa Albiano
§ 306 | Nobe Arinami
野辺 = nobe ‘field’ (from 野 no ‘plains; field; rustic; civilian life’ + 辺 atari, hotori, -be ‘environs; boundary; border; vicinity’)
野辺送り = nobeokuri ‘burial’
延べ = nobe ‘1. futures
2. credit (buying)
3. stretching
4. total; gross’ (from 延 = のべ = nobe ‘prolong, stretching’)
延べる, 伸べる, 展べる = noberu ‘to lay out (a futon); to make (bed); to spread out; to stretch; to widen’
延べ金, 延金 = nobegane ‘sheet metal; dagger; sword’
延べ語数 = nobegosū ‘total number of words used in a text’
ノベル = noberu ‘novel’
述べる, 宣べる, 陳べる = のべる = noberu ‘to state, express, mention’
蟻 = あり = ari ‘ant’
在り, 有り = ari ‘existence (at the present moment)’ (from 在る , 有る = aru ‘to be, exist, live’)
有り様 , 有様 = arisama ‘state; condition; circumstances; the way things are or should be; truth’ (from 有 aru ‘possess; have; exist; happen; occur’ + 様 sama ‘way; manner; situation’)
有りのまま , 有りの儘 = arinomama ‘the truth; fact; as it is; frankly’ (from 有 aru ‘possess; have; exist; happen; occur’)
回り波 = mawarinami ‘wheeling’ (回 mawaru ‘round; game; revolve; counter for occurrences’ + り ri + 波 nami ‘waves; billows’)
波, 浪, 濤 = nami ‘wave(s); billow(s)’
波打つ = namiutsu ‘to dash against; to undulate; to wave; to heave; to beat fast (heart)’
入り波 = irinami ‘incoming wave’ (from 入 iru ‘enter; insert’ + 波); thus あり波 = arinami not ‘outgoing wave' (for that would be 出り波 derinami, from 出る deru 'to go out; to exit; to leave' + 波), but rather 'existence wave' or 'wave (of) existence’
並 , 並み = nami ‘ 1. average; medium; common; ordinary
2. line; row of (e.g. houses)
3. mid-grade
4. same level; equal; each (e.g. month); set of (e.g. teeth)’
並み居る , 並居る = namiiru ‘to sit in a row; to be present (and lined up)’
In other words, most likely:
野辺有り波 = nobearinami, lit. ‘field-existence-wave’; that is, ‘wave-field (of) existence (at the present moment); field-wave (of) existence (at the present moment); field-wave (of the present moment of) existence’
§ 307 | Ruhr-Lülnrar
Contra an assertion by Charles Darwin (CD) that S. E. Spitmarkx’s place of birth, life, and death was located in Bavaria, Ruhr-Lülnrar is actually still to be found in Hoch Sunderland, where the bucolic Röhr (Rar in the local Ronish dialect of Saxo-Franconian) enters into the roaring Ruhr, two leagues to the northwest of Arnsberg. Scholars are of two minds anent the glottodiachronic referent of “Lüln” in the dorp’s name, with half siding for lullen, ‘to lull,’ and half for Lilien, ‘lilies.’ On the day I visited, the lily-strewn hillock overlooking the fluviatile notch into which Spitmarkx was wont to launch his roral and crepuscular ablutions was awash with terse, otiose natives too bent on lunching and napping and dulling their senses with Kümmelwasser to respond to my cartographic inquiries with anything beyond nucal chafing, dorsal torsions, and chiral deixis, nor did they seem to fathom that the crural riparian setting they were trampling, and the hulking hoary ruins of the Spitmarkx Buchfabrik yonder — where, in the bramble among the glittering vitreous remnants of shattered urns, they scattered their smudged oblations of sanitary tissue — had once been, indeed, still is, the ontonatatological hub, or even crux, of the phenomenal universe.
§ 308 | Ala Akbar Nod
§ 309 | Anatilo Ante
“The toniest area of my neat vigorous Danish art show,” Moéu Noäu Nin (I understand that, as a finalist in that nation’s Melos e Artes, she had been honored with a solo exhibition on board a Lanka-bound vessel hailing from Aalborg) was saying to barefooted Inuhka Bloip à la rank abode, ab uncinus labii, punk horror of a drab girl: lutulent of mind and mound (I’ve sampled of her antenatal oidema [οἴδημα], and let me tell you, not even the most virile of anatomists would label that rustic pink boil, haute femelle), atonal of intonation (an inanely talentless alto), impotent of sense (she thought a dream-adulterated mysticism anent toil and tail was adequate substitute for a down-to-brown-earth mastery of the prismatic possibilities the devilishly unsqueamish, impishly unselfish, rakishly stylish, and coquettishly roguish hand’s art can lavish on this hard snail-dart and this soft tubular gill-slit and this fantastic fantail ass I — but never mind, never mind), and strikingly lento of sensibility (her dour areoles yo-yoed like elusory aerostats), “was the thin hard ass of Anthony (‘Ante’) Anatilo, cast in an amberoid résine à totaliser the dazzling luteous jeu périlleux of that cocksure rationalist’s disgusting ability to
brag, lilt, ululate, and actually pollute en même temps a confused lass with a profound and fancy kiss
in such a way that his split genius’s utterly mixed message enforced all the more the crass paternalism of his sexist project to lead an unwary lady by her delicate nose–ear titanium chain, to mine her fertilest ore-seam and farm out her hoariest entailments to the highest bidder...”
I was distracted by the check-trousered hips and thighs of Nobe Arinami, our cute Arab minion of a hostess who seemed to be saying something about “un forêt
y vont mirage (“A thousand times brighter than our solar eyebeam!” interjects an unseen anonymous annotator), and “also your réel (“Mais c’est rien abominable, les deux sexes!” anent which or whom and by ditto I could not catch). C’est comme un élan ou un fourmi, a trim, neat, slightly tannic, but swimmingly edible oiseau.”
“Un moineau?” “Non. A robin aimé...”
Again Anon, moue nuisible taking aim in a borne-that-crux sort of way (she had leapt out of the parenthetical ombre in a naiadic gush of enthusiasm), interrupts: “Mais, c’est un poète qu’on aime à bringuebaler!”
Cut to Inuhka Bloip, embroidering à son gré: “My vatic découverte, as I’m fain to call it, de ce trait d’aumône, union textile, as it were, qui noue Mon nũaí, Nahua huipil, Koban istang, Ainu ruunpe, and Basque zapi...”
Blah, oink — più vivace, per piacere — or keep your banal arak-odored bogus nada to yourself, pfui!
Back to Moéu (an uninanimatedest interlocutrix if there ever was one!): “Like the talon of a Taenia scolex piercing clean through the innards (the machine room) and into the very womb (the ship’s area tétonisé [all audibly admired this complex cassoulet aux mots mammaire] for my installation) of our ambubaiarum collegium...”
“Preuve optique de son drab anal koan’s sonic duplicity: ‘Your real oestrus is our solar eyesore,’ indeed!”
With my innate tolerance for prettily appointed pieds (her naked natural toenails appeared utterly untainted by tinea, for instance), I lobbed a quizzical smirk faceward.
“Oh, je m’excuse, Dominique,” acutely drops in our Bonnie Maria of a hostess, “I forgot to introduce you to mes amies italiennes, the twain fatal sisters, Selma Rosete and Anita Ortese.”
Lo and behold, but barmie Anon issues forth from herself (Selma) an even barmier image (Anita) who aerates into the room like an Aeolian tantara whose antiphonal ripostes in a true teaser’s melody, I realized, had been prompting cadenzas in both Moéu’s and Nobe’s syncopated repartee.
Dim Inuhka of the funny bunny lips butts in: “And it’s not just the misogynistic mishmash of Milky Way, menstruation, lunation, eclipse, and female libido (a blank arabesque open to all phallacies, it seems), and all the hip bunko aliment of his ‘oedipal sky’ and ‘sapphic cosmos’ that gives him away, but if we combine, say, his well-known sylvan fixation quant aux pères et filles with any of his haiku bop lines, for instance, ‘Also, your réel séducteur is our Eros-Leyak,’ the result is not just a Greco-Balinese teratophilial gravidophobic infantophagy but an even more brutal gull-infesting Guinea-Roman bipolar cyesolagnic esurience.”
I left her and her suburban arak-loaded balderdash to bubbling Selma, the better, ex gratia, to steer Anita dans un coin plus propice à mes desseins.
From a brusque distant silence, Selma bursts out: “Why, here’s the Galato-Anatolian terror himself!”
“Is this party I’m at? Or did into my grave I stand harsh where falls the foot? From votre silence, I take, you were talking of me, hum?”
§ 310 | Retio e natsa
§ 311 | Vineslimosa
§ 312 | You’re so real
§ 313 | End stupid AL
