WINE STOMPING

WEATHER: woolly red scarf and warm boots

MUSIC: The Cat Empire

CATTLE GRIDS CROSSED: lost count at around five.

THE CARPET NEEDS A HAIRCUT

STEFAN THEMERSON [disinfecting words]

From Tom Harris by Stefan Themerson [intro by Nicolas Wadley]

"The initiative behind his concern with semantics was to free words of confusing sentimental or literary references, and, as with the photograms, to expose their own incontrovertible identity. The autograph character of his later novels is of several simultaneous currents of narrative and thought that may appear only obliquely related and that, together, create their own cumulative reality and sense. His whole oeuvre as a writer is like that: a continuous collage, its parts distinct but full of allusive echoes and repetitions"

[Nicolas Wadley, pg. ix]

"I wanted to disinfect words, scrub them right to the very bone of their dictionary definitions. That was how - somewhat  ferociously and sardonically - I invented Semantic poetry. It was meant to be funny. Both serious and funny."

[Stefan Themerson, pg. xvi]

"Fiction allows you to do things that history or treatises can't - especially in the sense that you can rescue or retrieve meanings that are lost from generation to generation. These time barriers are harder to cross than geographical barriers."

[Stefan Themerson, pg. xvii]

"COLOURLESS GREEN IDEAS SLEEP FURIOUSLY"

xxx

"Balance.
Repetition.
Proposition.
Mirrors.

Most of all, the world is a place where parts of wholes are described
within an overarching paradigm of clarity and accuracy.
The context in which makes possible an underlying
sense of the way it all fits together,
despite our collective tendency not to conceive of it as such.

But then again, the world without end is a place where souls are combined,
but with an overbearing feeling of disparity and disorderliness.
To ignore it is impossible without getting oneself into all of kinds of trouble,
despite one's best intentions to not get entangled with it so much.

Meanwhile,
the statues are bleeding green.
And others are saying things much better than we ever could;
as the quiet become suddenly verbose.

And the hail's heralding the size of nickels.
And the street corners are gnashing together like the gears
inside the head of some omniscient engineer.
And downward flows the garnered wisdom that has never died

Then finally,
we opened the box, we couldn't find any rules.
Our heads were reeling with the glitter of possibilities, contingencies...
but with ever increasing faith we decided to go ahead and just ignore them,
despite tremendous pressure to capitulate with fate.

So instead, we went ahead to fabricate a catalog
of unstable elements and modicums and particles.
With not zero total strangeness for brief moments which amount
to nothing more than tiny fragments of a finger snap.

Meanwhile,
we're furiously seeing green.
And the map has started tearing along its creases due to overuse...
when in reality it's never needed folds.

And the air's withholding the sound of its wellspring.
And our heads approach a density reminiscent of the infinite productivity of the center of the sun.

And therein lies the garnered wisdom that has never died.

Expectation -
leads to disappointment. If you don't expect something big huge and exciting...
usually...
I dunno,
just, uh yea..."

[THE BOOKS: SMELLS LIKE CONTENT]