Eleventh and Final Pod
§ 509 | D
§ 510 | D. I. Swopes
For my second birthday, mi madre me ha dado un cadeau consisting of une petite ardoise noire and a compact box of colored chalks. “Can you write your name, Dominique?” Squatting, I dumped the box out onto the brown mud of the kitchen floor. Taking the reddest of the lot in one or the other (have I mentioned that I am ambisinistral?) of my small hands, wrapping my grubby-nailed digits around it as I would the lumbering pinky of a parent, I sketched on the black slate what my mother recognized as a “D.” “Muy bien, Dominique, muy bien!” she buoyantly twittered from the sink where she was busy making butifarra di conitxo. “How does the rest go? Do-mi-nique-e?” Frowning, I brought the slick stick into contact with the smooth stone again, only to feel it burst into a dingy cloud of poussière ensanglantée. I looked up, frowning wistfully through my disgruntled discomfort.
“Ça va, ça va,” she reassured my discernible dismay, “no importa. Try again!” This time I took one of the grayer cylinders, and, gripping it in my red-powdered hand, fastidiously sketched “TIC.” I looked up again, expecting to see the pleasure of infantile accomplishment mirrored in her face. But no. Her hand that had been amiably turning the crank of the grinder stopped and the other that had been so tenderly holding the luminous pale gauze-like membrane clenched dreadfully, causing some filling to spill and be sleekly snapped up by one of the demure bell-collared kittens below. She grimaced, tied and trimmed the casing, and, as she started up the operation again with a new tube, the blank voice of dull disappointment burst from her taciturn mouth, “Segundo nombre. Scríbelo.”
Desperately wanting to please her, I tried to complete the assignment, scribbling, with an unhesitating, immature rapidity I find more charming and fascinating the more I reflect on it, a conflated, or rather dismantled, succession, each group in a different color, of disarticulated letters making up, so I thought, mi nombre de pila, nombre de madre, y apellido: “STD, EIDS, ISOEPO.”
With a sordid finality that shredded the sensitive rabbit organs of my childish pride into the delinquent sausage-meat of humiliation, she flushed and barked mournfully, “Mais non! Mais non! Qu’est-ce que tu fiches avec ces trucs-là, hein?”
In what seemed a single, tremendous, disquieting motion, she bobbed a farced trotter and bent down to snatch up board and chalk with her blood-stained hands, and, with each stroke drawing a heart-rending dissonant screek from the contact of soft calcite and hard clay, wrote, one atop the other, first her bee-loud Gallic eponym, then my father’s as it had been distorted from its quondam nativity, Σωορες, by some naive Appalachik quidnunc during the immigration process: “INNISFREE SWOPES.”
“Mira! Fais-le! Like me!”
Burdened and quaking as I was with her emotional outburst, I disguised my distress enough to take up the prettiest color, royal purple, from the floor and, in my most elaborate and disciplined hand, try to imitate what she had so dismissively yet discretely etched on the slate she distractedly tossed down to me: “XWARPO.”
Her cold moue of disgust and disdain cancelled any further effort on my part. She turned back to making sausages.
And yet, unbeknownst to my ignorant dead mother, Xwarpo was indeed one of my father’s cognomina, for it had been the name (pronounced as written), of my great-uncle, a Poldevian prince who had been ambassador to the court of Upper Engush.
Abject and utterly disheartened, I scattered and crushed the chalks, smashed the slate, and retreated to my small Eden beneath the kitchen table where I was wont to play with my slender feline friends. One of the little creatures neatly pierced my lower lip with one of its curious claws. Appalled and disoriented by the ghastly deceit, I managed to sit up and cry, “Maman!”
She would have seen my distended discolored lip pulled down by le poids du chaton malin still dangling there, its neck bells jingling, my exposed baby teeth covered in blood, the tears — not only of pain but also of fear that I would catch some appalling disease from the greasy claw, still redolent des abats de lapin — streaming down my disillusioned and punctured face. “Oh, Dominique-e!”
§ 511 | Spry
“a still spry and famously handsome woman only slightly less given to outrageous behavior than her son” [J. Banville, The untouchable].
§ 512 | Sappers
Sappers are called "bombers" in Catalan, but "pompiers" in French.
“Down in the hole two sappers were contemplating in head-scratching dismay a huge, plump bomb, like a giant grub, lying on its side half-buried in the clay” [Banville, The untouchable].
§ 513 | Pro Ove
§ 514 | RI
§ 515 | Yen
§ 516 | Mold
“Turn out the lights and watch the real ones in heaven — those our ancestors’ imaginative minds used to mold a wonderful poetic imagery about themselves and their relation to the universe.” [Aveni
"Goods, especially perishable ones, had to arrive and depart on time so as not to be left to mold in a warehouse or to run up a huge bill."
"We moderns feel 'art' to be a private compulsion, a personal desire to mold or make something out of one's individual experience." [E. Dissayanake, 1992, Homo aestheticus, p. 61]
§ 517 | Maori
§ 518 | Obit no
§ 519 | Ludict
By charting the cloven drainpipe
of Ouida Willoughby Johnson
’s “lucid ductility of glyph and word I construct from what among all my fair parts I lack” that sluices the utterly lush “lucid flow of fact and fabulation” from the lipid provenance
of that libelluloid, numi
nous author’s “flyscript body of allusion mold
ing form from form’s omission” into the orphic textwork (OT
) of her meticulously planned epic viro
lai of sorts, her deceptively plain-voiced, pern
icious, and panicle-prone Div
astigations wherein (and from which the relevant citations have sprung) the snide corvine palp
ability of her “cynical tract of gushing lusts” cascades in a “focal point of maximal fiction” such that the ondine, pelvic, rap
acious thrust of “form [...] outspills function with a frivolous construct’s lack” leading the voluptuously wanton waterfall of the ponce-driven pali
mpsest of the luroid lumin
osity of her “catoptromantic striving for things lost” to luridly splash and circulate back into the “laconically lucid ludicrous lyric” of the incipial cervine pond
of my own ludic text, I propo
se that we — we dappled oneiric van
guard of the read and the said, we schizomythologists! — construct, in the moduli in
terstices of our senimalistic field, no less, a less metaphorical and more concrete moulin discursif
, so to speak, a more durchführbar Übung
(feasible praxis) where the lexical ludion im
mergé dans le fluid nomi
native of the “perverse playtext composed under the pretext of playverse” (my words) can, well, more freely meld with, dissolve into, and explore whatever “strict constraint of form which through arbitrary picturing can bring lost things back to light,” allowing such “literarily utopian divastigational innovatively contrived textwork,” as I prefer to call it, to literally flourish in something like a Laboratory Undertaking Divastigations of Insouciant Contorsions
(or Inosculant Convolutions
) of Textuality
) located on the grounds of some well apportio
ned ranch, for instance, possibly provincial, pende
nt perhaps to some argilloid muni
cipality where the deadpan, indocile, perv
erse scion of some solid, muni
ficent, bold m
anufacturer of nitrocelluloid muni
to boot, sirote un porto, pi
core des pistaches, bécote le philtre éthéré, the so-called “vapor opti
mum stupor poti
on” (nirvanic, peopled
with bdelloid Numi
dian wraiths, arredato con apporti o
nirici) d’un narguilé (a luxurious practice, Ouida
lusciously reminds us, lustily engaged in and luculently recounted by a lugubrious Poldevian prince
during the illustrous coronation ceremony of Babur
, c. 1505; cf. Divastigations § 251
) et fulmine contre un geometroid lumin
ary (Acidalia ludibunda
Prout, 1915) that keeps vivaciously caroming against the screened-in sang-froid, lumin
ous sanctuary of the echt buen tipo por
ch of his pied-à-terre près du vieux port.
§ 520 | Drupe
"My informant, a doctor, swore he had seen with his own eyes obese Valechka and her colonel, by then gray-haired and also quite corpulent, diligently crawling about the well-swept floors of a brightly lit set of rooms (fruit in one, water in another, mats in a third and so on) in the company of several other hired qua[DRUPE]ds, selected from indigent and helpless groups." [Lolita, I, 8]
"Humbler humans have preferred such sundry forms of suffocation, and minor poets have even tried such fancy releases as vein tapping in the qua[DRUPE]d tub of a drafty boardinghouse bathroom." [Pale Fire]
§ 521 | Tic
§ 522 | Tixpu
§ 523 | Coal pit
“Capital is the culprit. Capital is a coal pit.” (Grafitto.) “She cheerfully followed him down into the coal-pit, burying herself in the bowels of the earth, and there at a tender age, without excusing herself on account of her sex, she joined in the same work with the miners, a race of men rough indeed, but highly useful to the community” (Hannah More, The Lancashire Colliery Girl, May 1795). Coalpit is the Capitol of Upper Engush, a coastal region in Appalachia.
§ 524 | Ariel
A mordacious thieving vagrant. Sagarch Flawndol’s now defunct feline.
§ 525 | Lip nursers
§ 526 | Babur
§ 527 | Blorhn
[A boring bleary blurry burg in Wyoming
where some indigent lunatic, it now appears, thought fit to push pregnant Ada
Romer to her death down an escalier à colimaçon in a sort of vicarage for which no advowson had been either sought or found.]
§ 528 | Iso Epo
Isotherapeutic epology, a sort of sosigonic poiesis; ISOCPHYS has been deemed by the Légation de Scolarité Obligatoire de la Flousiane (LSOF
) to be “une Institution Supérieure Officielle de l’Éducation Publique Obligatoire;” thus enabling qualifying inmates to pursue, free of charge, courses of study leading to higher sociophysiological, schizomythological, translexical, and altarian study, etc.
§ 529 | Erd Edda
§ 530 | Nimloidu
§ 531 | Mopsi
§ 532 | Xwarpo
§ 533 | Poor tip
§ 534 | Poldevian prince
§ 535 | Inframoimo
§ 536 | Agisteo
§ 537 | Upper Engush
§ 538 | OT
Owlstain Transportation (Authority)>? Orphic textwork.
§ 539 | Eids
§ 540 | Firing
“You see the good woman thought that bullets were still flukhtung about in the night, meteoritic remnants of the firing that had long ceased.” (V. Nabokov, Bend Sinister, ch. 2)
§ 541 | Geladra
§ 542 | STD
The sociophysiological and tautoceptive detection of the struggle, or in technical terms, oppugnancy, against entropy (OAS), is most likely not uniform across species. Conscious apperception of this struggle, soi-disant memory as it is understood in organisms composed of a diversity of hierarchically bundled tissue types, is but one aspect of STD. How, say, a multihost cyclical parasite or an holometabolic insect experience STD is a subject for further exploration.
§ 543 | RSS
§ 544 | End
Instead of, “There’s no end to Paris,” isn’t it better to write, “Paris never ends”? Or do the two phrases have different meanings?
§ 545 | Name act
§ 546 | Debarked
§ 547 | Aerate
§ 548 | Errors
“If it be the sacred province and—by the wisest, deemed—the inestimable compensation of the heavier woes, that they both purge the soul of gay-hearted errors and replenish it with a saddened truth; that holy office is not so much accomplished by any covertly inductive reasoning process, whose original motive is received from the particular affliction; as it is the magical effect of the admission into man’s inmost spirit of a before unexperienced and wholly inexplicable element, which like electricity suddenly received into any sultry atmosphere of the dark, in all directions splits itself into nimble lance
s of purifying light; which at one and the same instant discharge all the air of sluggishness and inform it with an illuminating property; so that objects which before, in the uncertainty of the dark, assumed shadowy and romantic outlines, now are lighted up in their substantial realities; so that in these flashing revelations of grief’s wonderful fire, we see all things as they are; and though, when the electric element is gone, the shadows once more descend, and the false outlines of objects again return; yet not with their former power to deceive; for now, even in the presence of the falsest aspects, we still retain the impressions of their immovable true ones, though, indeed, once more concealed.” [PIERRE: OR, THE AMBIGUITIES. BY HERMAN MELVILLE. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 1852.]
“errors may make you immortal” [D. Barnes, Nightwood. New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1937].
“That the author has escaped all errors and oversights while ranging through so numerous and such diverse fields of investigation, many of which are but just opened to the pioneering specialist, is too much to expect.” “Our Arctic Eden, therefore, by explaining the origin of the cosmological conceptions of ancient Chaldæa and Egypt and India, explains at the same time the origin of the most eccentric and apparently senseless conceptions of mediaeval and modern cosmographers, and presents what may properly enough be called the philosophy of the errors and misconceptions and fancies of previous searchers after Paradise.” “According to him, animistic and fetichistic beliefs were not ‘primary beliefs’; they were errors into which ‘the primitive man was betrayed during his early attempts to understand the surrounding world.’”[W. F. Warren, Paradise found: The cradle of the human race at the north pole. A study of the prehistoric world. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1885.]
“Perhaps as a result of those errors of judgement to which the author, with admirable candour, owns up, there are also to be found in this brawny, broiling volume numerous instances of hard-won wisdom.” [J. Barnes, Conan to China. TLS, 20 May 2011, p. 25]
"There are certain sophomorean errors in the world," drawled the sophomore, deliberately adjusting his shirt collar, "not the least of which is the popular notion touching the nature of the modern scholar, and the nature of the modern scholastic sedateness." [Melville, Confidence Man, ch. 9]
"To Charlotte I said that society columns should contain a shimmer of errors." [Lolita, I, 18]
“If nothing else, we must reclaim the right to think freely about ideas and reality without having restrictions imposed upon us by ideologues who merely answer each other’s errors with errors of their own.” (Murray Bookchin, The Ecology of Freedom, 1982, p. 289)
§ 549 | Rollu
§ 550 | Alae
§ 551 | Asiurne
"Cassander placed his victim's remains in a silver urn crowned with another gold oak wreath, both still in place and perfectly shiny when the tomb was opened." [J. Davidson, Crowning controversies. Star exhibits from the tombs of the Aegae — but to whom do they belong? TLS 20 May 2011, p. 17]
§ 552 | SR
§ 553 | Shoots
§ 554 | Rest up
§ 555 | Romer’s Samba
§ 556 | Sector
§ 557 | As Est
§ 558 | Their loose ideas
'Or, as his University of Edinburgh collaborator Hannah Cornish puts it, “What happens when you have some loose ideas of concepts and some ability to produce signals, but no preexisting system of combining these things together.”' D. Normile, Experiments Probe Language’s Origins and Development, SCIENCE, 27 April 2012, vol. 336, p. 409.
§ 559 | Testa
"O'Shaughnessy suggests that St Dunstan is in part an expression of Godwin's political support for attempts by Dissenters in 1790 to achieve the repeal of the Test and Name Act
so that they and other excluded religious groups could assert their full civil rights."
[Describe method of Tixputo head-binding in Ityalian.] Testament. State. Teats.
"It is a testament to the vision of both artists that the resulting whole is greater than the sum of its parts." [K. Grovier, Checked mates. TLS, 11 March 2011, p. 18]
“I sped through it, snarling, as a furious young heir through an old deceiver’s testament.” (Nabokov, Pale Fire, note to line 1000) [--> vide, Michel Ney, nephew of R. Roussel]
§ 560 | Idols
§ 561 | Eosdoli
If my understanding of Irora Rexni’s Zeocosmología
is not too far off track, when otiose reality first sidled idly up to the slumbrous zeoidal oospore coiled like a slimy delicious snail bud within the polyversal entropium of Venturi’s pleroma and pierced with her crimson strap-on of primordial cunning the event horizon’s hymen (goose oil does wonders during such idolatrous bouts of roral iconoclasm, as do surreptitious doses of orgyoygro), the inflamed pileolus of her dawn deceit inflicted the vectorial Rexni aura
on the anamorphic plasmoid falcation of space, and as the solid ruddy truncheon of her vernal imposture plowed ever deeper into the ylem’s idyllic ooze, the turgid cosmic grume ineluctably loosened and flared into the scaphoid meniscus of our current zeon’s yazdehan realm of be(com)ing in which mass, energy, gravity, soil, sodium, lodestones, silk, eyes, bears, thirst, fear, and whatnot are like so many noctuids splattered against the screen of the Kafkaist car in which each of us — unshielded by the Elysian fields of sempiternal dark matter, undetected by the maize-eared silos of light — loses our eidos and our equilibrium and dies our small solo deaths in bondage and submission to the sulky skullcap (zucchetto sediolo, solideo imbronciato) of the seminal artificer’s generative ruse which Rexni calls eosdoli
(from ἠώς ‘dawn’ and δόλιος ‘wily, crafty, cunning, deceitful, deceiving’; as in δολίοις ἐπέεσσι ‘crafty words, paroles rusées’; δολίης τέχνης ‘crafty wiles, ruses adroites’; δόλιον κύκλον ‘crafty ring, cercle perfide’). It is because of “the encarnadine kippah of this dawn deceit or ætiological chicanery (el solideo encarnado de este eosdoli o engaño etiológico)” that reality has an innate penchant for concealing her lacunas with sly excerpts and travesties of entelechies she has fobbed off elsewhere, resulting in the various species of antiphenomenal enchantment (AE) with which U Readers of my CAR and my SNE are familiar, from the infraleptonic entanglement (ILE) occurring in Ravel’s entropium to the gravitational olisbophane (GO) Rexni has shown to be asymptotic to the ostiose obimbrications of Venturi’s pleroma by way of the formicating armies of author-generated spooky action at a distance (AGSAD) lurking in the shadows of all too many heures sublunaires pré-auroraux.
; οὐδ᾽ ὁ γέρων δολίης ἐπελήθετο τέχνης (Odyssey 4.455) “nor did that old man forget his crafty wiles” (Murray); “our force to evade, / His various arts he soon resumes in aid” (Pope); “mais le Vieillard n’oublia pas ses ruses adroites” (Leconte de L’Isle) “but the Ancient began his tricks in a moment” (Caulfeild); “and the old sea-god forgat not his cunning” (Cotteril). ὣς φάτο πειράζων, ἐμὲ δ᾽ οὐ λάθεν εἰδότα πολλά, ἀλλά μιν ἄψορρον προσέφην δολίοις ἐπέεσσι (Odyssey 9.282) “So he spoke, tempting me, but he trapped me not because of my great cunning; and I made answer again in crafty words” (Murray); “Thus he. His meditated fraud I find / (Versed in the turns of various human-kind): / And, cautious thus” (Pope); “Il parla ainsi, me tentant; mais il ne put me tromper, car je savais beaucoup de choses, et je lui répondis ces paroles rusées” (Leconte de L’Isle).
It is no accident that each of the incidents involving crafty wiles and crafty words takes place at or soon after dawn (Eos): "Et quand Éôs aux doigts rosés, née au matin, apparut, je marchais vers le rivage de la mer large, en suppliant les dieux; et je conduisais trois de mes compagnons, me confiant le plus dans leur courage. Pendant ce temps, la déesse, étant sortie du large sein de la mer, en apporta quatre peaux de phoques récemment écorchés, et elle prépara une ruse contre son père. Et elle s'était assise, nous attendant, après avoir creusé des lits dans le sable marin. Et nous vînmes auprès d'elle. Et elle nous plaça et couvrit chacun de nous d'une peau. C'était une embuscade très dure, car l'odeur affreuse des phoques nourris dans la mer nous affligeait cruellement. Qui peut en effet coucher auprès d'un monstre marin? Mais la déesse nous servit très utilement, et elle mit dans les narines de chacun de nous l'ambroisie au doux parfum qui chassa l'odeur des bêtes marines. Et nous attendîmes, d'un esprit patient, toute la durée du matin. Enfin, les phoques sortirent, innombrables, de la mer, et vinrent se coucher en ordre le long du rivage. Et, vers midi, le Vieillard sortit de la mer, rejoignit les phoques gras, les compta, et nous les premiers parmi eux, ne se doutant point de la ruse; puis, il se coucha lui-même. Aussitôt, avec des cris, nous nous jetâmes sur lui en l'entourant de nos bras; mais le Vieillard n'oublia pas ses ruses adroites, et il se changea d'abord en un lion à longue crinière, puis en dragon, en panthère, en grand sanglier, en eau, en arbre au vaste feuillage. Et nous le tenions avec vigueur et d'un coeur ferme; mais quand le Vieillard plein de ruses se vit réduit, alors il m'interrogea et il me dit:"
Quand Éôs aux doigts rosés, née au matin, apparut, admirant l'île, nous la parcourûmes. Et les nymphes, filles de Zeus tempétueux, firent lever les chèvres montagnardes, afin que mes compagnons pussent faire leur repas. Et, aussitôt, on retira des nefs les arcs recourbés et les lances à longues pointes d'airain, et, divisés en trois corps, nous lançâmes nos traits, et un dieu nous donna une chasse abondante. Douze nefs me suivaient, et à chacune le sort accorda neuf chèvres, et dix à la mienne. Ainsi, tout le jour, jusqu'à la chute de Hèlios, nous mangeâmes, assis, les chairs abondantes, et nous bûmes le vin rouge; mais il en restait encore dans les nombreuses amphores que nous avions enlevées de la citadelle sacrée des Kikônes. Et nous apercevions la fumée sur la terre prochaine des kyklopes, et nous entendions leur voix, et celle des brebis et des chèvres. Et quand Hèlios tomba, la nuit survint, et nous nous endormîmes sur le rivage de la mer. Et quand Éôs aux doigts rosés, née au matin, apparut, ayant convoqué l'agora, je dis à tous mes compagnons:
§ 562 | Curare
§ 563 | Soto Rumi
§ 564 | Ink
The Istitutsya Norliaya Kultyurya (Institute of Norlian Culture) was destroyed in the 1957 earthquake. Norlian exiles subsequently established in On, with financial assistance from the Poldevian royal family, the Poldevian Institute of Norlian Culture (PINC
§ 565 | Tracks
The scarlet tracksuit of the TBS Tilia Raiders was still damp when I put it on.... (Elaborate)
§ 566 | TTULS
Trans-Tetrastic Urban Laie System; Tetrastic Trans-Urban Laie System? [Laie = Chemin de terre percé dans une forêt; en partic. « allée séparative des coupes, assez large pour permettre le passage des voitures » (Forest. 1946).] Les t-tuls du texte: les outils. The text as tool, usable. The text is a tool, or collection of tools, not a finished work; the sandpaper, not the polished. Le texte toujours utilisable, lu ou sans être lu.
I recall that one day in the arboreal hinterland of one of Agua Prieta’s more distant faubourgs, I harnessed my puny blond slave named Ronish to the stupendous and threadbare glomerate of contrary natures called, in this part of New Lexica, Sagradu, and set off on a ramble down one of the innumerable bucolic tracks, some almost obliterated bridle path, of the Tetrastic Trans-Urban Laie System...
(“That priceless gallery of misinformation called the mind, harnessed to that stupendous and threadbare glomerate of compulsion called the soul, ambling down the almost obliterated bridle path of Well and Ill...” [D. Barnes, Nightwood. New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1937])
§ 567 | Onion
§ 568 | IO
§ 569 | Tet
§ 570 | Asps
The asps (agents, solicitors, and publishers) at Trevi, Pulsar, Nemo & Assn., Ltd. Pass.
§ 571 | Kore
"...a deeper than usual / lilac in a recess looks shy but glowering, / young Kore disturbed by the pond // restored to secrecy..." [S. Romer, This knowledge [Romer’s Samba
]. TLS, 25 February 2011, p. 13.]
Maori: te Kore, ‘the Nothingness; the Void’ : “at the beginning of time, there stood te Kore, the Nothingness. Then was te Po, the Night, which was immensely long and immensely dark...”
§ 572 | D
This last, this final, this ultimate of my many SNE-Beray, this, my eschatocol, in fact, consists, like a pebbly fistful of anti-eschatic others I have wrought (who have wrought themselves through me, through us: A, F, J, K, M, N, R, S, et W), not of a whole lexical unit or unwholy phrase, but rather of a single glyph, a letter, in this case, a coronal consonant, a sonorant obstruent requiring, in tight sequence so as to seem virtually simultaneous, both a tap of the tongue-tip against the incisors or the alveolar margin just in back (or in front) of them as well laryngeal activation of the glottis resulting in what those privy to the inner workings of the subject call “normal voicing” in contrast to the breathy voice or susurration typical of various Bantu languages; likewise, the creaky voice or glottal fry your Penutian languages are wont to manifest exists at the opposite terminus of the vocal spectrum we are referring to in the refinement of firing up the kiln so as to bake some of her oneiric crackleware creations or possibly it was that in the firing they were lost or at least the tops of them somehow came unstuck or burst. Apropos of which, I remember I was saying something to her when she left. Elle ferme la porte. Elle ne lance rien à travers la fenêtre. Elle s’élance par l’escalier. Non. Elle ne tombe pas. Elle est encore en vie. Mais jamais plus elle ne me, elle ne m’ — ainsi soit l’eschaton.