Topic withheld to create tension
A
person [name withheld to create tension] was seen doing something [action
withheld to create tension] in a place [location withheld to create tension] at
a particular time [temporalization withheld to create
tension] for a purpose [reason withheld to create tension].
When
asked [by whom?], the unknown subject
[why unknown?] responded [how?] that s/he [what?] had engaged a legal firm [any particular one?] to answer questions that could be asked [examples?].
In
response [to what? withheld to create
tension], an eyewitness [anonymous?
withheld to create tension] gestured [is
this intransitive? grammar suspended to create tension].
***
The
time had come for the boy to leave his father's junkshop.
He
packed up his meagre belongings. Clothes, money, a
Bible, the music of Beethoven, the watch his mother had given him.
He
went down into the junkshop, the bag across his shoulder.
"Father,"
he said. "It's time for me to leave."
"Ehh?
What?"
"It's
time for me to leave."
The
father set down the screwdriver he'd been using to fix a table.
"Very good.
There's a lot to the world. I wish you all the best."
"Goodbye."
The
boy left his father's junkshop, for the wider world's junkshop.
***
My
alarm went off at
I
let the song play through. "Stay." Less than two minutes long.
I
shut off the alarm and stood up.
I
was standing naked.
My
legs uncertainly carried me to where yesterday's underwear lay.
Having
pulled them on, I went into the hall and I walked down the stairs one step at a
time.
I
went into the front room, turned on my computer, and took a cigarette.
Then
I went down into the basement.
To be
continued????
***
The New Tamburlaine:
A Novel
Book Two
PART ONE
Chapter One
1.
The
heroine, befitting this Fresh Start, is now named Janet. She is in the castle;
she was brought there by her Uncle because she's to be forced to be wed to evil
Italian Count Lario. She, this first night (it's
***
Exercises in Style
Notation
At
the outdoor kiosk that leads down into the Metro Centre,
I
take the stairs down, to go to the washroom.
I
leave the washroom, and thence through the underground concourse head down
halls to where the subway is.
I
come to the sunken end of another elevator'd kiosk.
The same tourist woman is receiving directions from two other strangers on how
to get up.
***
While
Bob and I were out hunting yesterday, we came upon the strangest thing. Some
shouting we heard meant something weird was up, some kind of like religious
shouting, so we took our time getting closer to the critter who
was doing the shouting. Then, there he was, a safe distance away. Some kind of religious fanatic, in an old sleeveless red robe and
nothing else. He was ranting, stomping, demanding
a miracle. He put his arms out like Jesus on the cross. Bob and I raised out shotguns, aimed at his arms, and blew 'em right off. A miracle!
***
The
group packed it all up. They packed their clothes, their dishes, and their
playing cards. The lake watched with hostility. They packed up. They packed
their compact discs, their towels, and their novels. The clouds watched,
counting the minutes. They packed their things. They packed their maps, their
umbrellas, and their astronomy charts. The ground beneath their feet regretted
having to support them. They packed all their stuff. They packed their
condiments, their tents, and their portable barbecues. Fire was watching,
making sure they didn't take anything of his. They packed their back seats,
their trunks, and their trailers.
***
"I'm
writing an opera."
"Really. What's
it about?"
"Glad
you asked. It's about a couple of married astronomers who take a trip to
"So,
why did you make them astronomers?"
"Well,
I thought of making them English profs, but then I
thought: why not make them passionate?"
***
Helicopter
overhead.
Why is that? It seems to be circling. They must be after someone. Here I am,
just walking to work, minding my own business. Boy, it's loud! Who can they be
after? It's early, there's not many people around.
There it is, overhead. What can this all be about?
"There
he is. Easy to find, he's so routinized. Phone tap
tell us he's regular as clockwork. Easy target. 'Well,
Mr. Writer, where will you hide when we really
come after you?' Okay, that's it, end of dry run. We'll get him when we have
to. Oh, hell, fire!"
***
This
deep blue lake water looks extremely cold but it is not cold once you are in it
for some time. It becomes pleasantly warm. You can see soft rocks down beneath
in his clear water. The surface is flat when there's nothing to disturb it. Such as wind or a tossed pebble or a bubble from below the surface.
Open your eyes then keep then open. You expect to see fish in here? You aren't
me. You can't see fish. I see hundreds. This deputation is all on the fin. Down here, under the surface, away from you, us.
***
Because
I want to I said,
to Nigel,
The
central problem,
the
problem that's bigger than any other,
at least
as far as teaching is concerned,
is that
we don't have the least idea how learning happens.
What
can get an idea into another head?
It's
not magic, is it?
We've
spent all our effort with this Cartesian system,
yet
meanwhile,
we don't
know how any of the images of the body get into the soul,
where
they're manipulated into facts.
Somehow,
everything has
come to us,
to see,
to know,
and that's
what I mean,
we don't
know anything.
***
Halfway
through that September's journey, we took account of our confusions.
Across
the entirety of that which we called our cabin, that which we also called our
world,
things we had
needed, had thought we needed, had thought we'd need, had thought we'd need need,
alongside the
ghosts of things we needed later but didn't have and would never have,
we sat,
thinking of how our journey had started and how our journey could end.
We
fell asleep, and in that sleep we went from the first half to the second half
of our journey,
missing out
on: something sweet?
***
There
she goes, always wanting to know what happened next. "The book is
over," I tell her. "Nothing happens after that." But still she
needs to know what happens next. I tell her, "Nothing important happens after
that. Do you understand?" And she can't believe it. "There has to be
more. Do you really expect me to believe this Happily Ever After stuff?"
"I don't see why not." "Nothing is happy forever. Bad things are
bount to happen. I statissical." "Talking to your father
again?" "No. It's just something I know." That child is wise
beyond her years, I'll say.
***
The New Tamburlaine:
A Novel
Book Two
PART ONE
Chapter One
2.
The
wooden panel shows us a bower festooned with garlands of lilies. (They look
damp by a clever use of resin.) In the middle of the bower sits Venus herself,
all fleshy and naked. Adonis is peeking in; he has high, firm buttocks. (Unseen
to us, he also sports a magnificent pole.) A clever use of resin has the
***
At
the circus I saw a stunt done for the very first time. Five thin guys and a
strong horse. First, one guy was riding, then he hopped up and to the left as a
second guy hopped onto the horse's right, left foot right stirrup, right foot
left stirrup, and the guys clasped wrists. Then two other guys jumped up, got
supported by the two already on the horse, they were all fanned out now.
Finally the fifth guy jumped up onto the shoulders of the two latter guys, feet
on shoulders. A big horse-and-human pyramid. Creepy ass crackers.
***
Don't
you get the idea that everything, everyone, is really quite lame? Don't you
ever look and see that no-one is really making much of an effort? Everything is
just good enough. Nothing is really top-notch. Meals are okay; to get something
really good you have to pay a hundred bucks, but even if you spend a hundred
bucks, what you get is only worth a hundred bucks. No-one makes any real
effort, any real sacrifice. Why do you think that is?
I
think it's because no-one really gives a fuck. Really.
No-one cares that much. All we want is to get through the day, maybe get some
sleep at the end of it. Any effort is only to effect
that. Some sleep.
So,
no-one gives a fuck about anything. It's all just a muddle-through. We know
life ends, we know we will die, but we really at heart don't care that much.
(If we did, we'd act much differently.) Plus we have the cheap grace of knowing
everyone else at heart doesn't give a fuck either. So we're not bad people
there. No-one really cares about anything at all. And who cares if oblivion is all we can expect?
***
Note on Language
Ours
is a living language. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
A new way of saying said or say
or will say has come to my attention.
Am like
or was like.
All
three tenses can now be expressed with those two words, while the context is
relied upon to provide the tense.
Let's
try it, shall we?
Jones
looked at the bower and said, "Behold."
Jones
looked at the bower and was like, "Behold."
I
said, "Do you love me?"
I
am like, "Do you love me?"
Thus
will 16-year-old girls no longer be left out.
***
Roller Coaster Tour Guide
"My
name's John, and I'll be your guide for the next minute and fifty-three
seconds, looking straight ahead, you can see the sky, nice blue, I'll get back
to you in five seconds, we're coming over the peak, here's the first drop,
don't they look like ants, to our right there's the ground, now above us is the
ground again, To your left you can see the lake for a half-sec, built in 1989,
checked daily, ahead you can see we're coming to the end, two more hills,
platform, have a nice rest of your day."
***
This
is how I blame my mother.
Though
I was not a very bright child--quite the opposite--, I could read well. My
mother encouraged this, and let me read to her often. I'd read aloud and read
aloud, night after night.
(Did
you know Hemingway thought men had a limited number of orgasms available?)
Now,
forty years later, I find I have very little to say. (Out loud, that is.) I go
through my world barely uttering a word. Mary hates it. But, you see, it's
because I used up all my aloud words so long ago.
Mother, mother.
***
"If
you're looking for inside information, you've come to the right place."
"Okay,
great. You know about the
"Of
course I have. He was also politically connected, you know."
"Yeah,
so: what was it? What porn did he create?"
"He
wrote a how-to document on grooming children for sexual abuse. How to make a child obedient, to alienate him from his parents, to
normalize all perversions."
"Sounds
like a lot of work."
"It
was actually easy. He took the TDSB's policy paper on
sex ed and edited it slightly for a mostly overlapping
demographic."
***
Prince subject to experiment
At
The boy's father, Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, no
stranger himself to the sciences, is foresquare behind it. "Will the
unlettered lad say he wants to fly a helicopter?"
The unusual move is the handiwork of the Head Royal
Physician, Dr. Madd, who recommended the procedure to settle once and for all
the thorny enigma of Kaspar Hauser.
--
***
On
the other line, I am going to take sixteen old stories and write sequels to
them.
Farmer's
Markets are the Special Olympics of agriculture.
I
will choose them, and put them together in some kind of order, making a whole
new narrative of interconnected stories, very spiderweblike
in appearance.
Oh
the things I go through for my Ideal Reader!
Since
I haven't chosen which ones.... What's the math?
I
can start in January, no, whenever I started.
I
think I've got them printed up.
Since
I'm on 28, there's ... a whole lot to choose from.
Randomly
I suppose.
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