Friday, April 15, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
In the Interest of Generating Even More "Paddywhacks1"
In Which We Explore the Carnal Delights to be Beheld in the Works of One Who Was Once Heard Declaiming 'Literature and butterflies are the two sweetest passions known to man;' A Quote Striking in its Thematic Applicability to My Introduction to the Essay Below.
In Japan, one singular butterfly symbolizes femininity, while a pair of butterflies symbolizes marital bliss. In Greek, the word for butterfly is also the word for soul, as well as the name of a character in a well known myth2. These allusions lend a certain credibility to the otherwise sordid nature of a certain paperback edition cover illustration belonging to Nabakov's Ada, as exhibited above in all of its ragged glory. Nabakov has been celebrated as one of the 20th century's finest prose stylists, although many have called him to task as relying on formal conceits and witty prose as masks for novels devoid of little inherent worth3 (although the fact remains that it is hard to decry the charms of anyone capable of lines such as "Let the credulous and the vulgar continue to believe that all mental woes can be cured by a daily application of old Greek myths to their private parts” and "There is nothing in the world that I loathe more than group activity, that communal bath where the hairy and slippery mix in a multiplication of mediocrity"). Today's installment of literary lust has the misfortune to be merely an excerpt from his masterwork "Ada." There is little to be found in this novel in the way of prolonged passages depicting rigid anatomical descriptions of amorous acts, yet the entirety of the text nearly throbs with anticipatory excitement; the deeply suggestive and sensual language allows the reader to complete for his or herself any actions hinted at by the narrative. The prose is practically engorged, in other words. For example:
and so on, in that style.
1see "I Have Never Wondered" and "In the Interest of Generating "Paddywhacks" for some context, if it should prove necessary.
2Psyche was the youngest of three princesses, and as is often the case in tales such as this, was undescribably desirable. It seemed that all who met this fair maiden grew inflamed with yearning. Such was the degree of distraction as a result of the fervor that this nubile instilled among all that people began to omit worshiping Aphrodite, saying to themselves "We have among us a mortal who truly embodies all that Aphrodite represents, why should we waste our time burning delicious animal fats to some distant goddess lounging about sipping ambrosia on some far off mountaintop?" Aphrodite, being a lust goddess, amongst other things, was naturally a capricious and vicious sort, and sent her son Eros, the god of childish infatuation, down to fuck with Psyche. He was given orders to prick her with one of his arrows in order to cause her to desire some ugly fellow (of course the worst punishment that Aphrodite could conceive would be that of a beautiful woman falling in love with an ugly man. But no one has ever accused the Olympians as being anything but amplified representations of humanities coarsest features, so). Psyche's beauty was such that even Eros could not withstand her guiles, even as she slept, so not only did he not prick her with his arrow, he went and pricked himself (hmmm) as he watched her sleep (creepy yes, see above aside on the nature of Greek divinity) and distracted by his desire for the fair maiden, forgot all about his duties of shooting his love-arrows willy-nilly about the world. This all goes on for quite a while, with all sorts of more fairy-tale elements seeping into the story, what with the bit where Psyche finds herself married to some strange fellow who keeps her well tended in a secluded valley but is instructed to never look upon his face else some dire fate will befall them, or the part where Aphrodite forces Psyche to undertake a series of three (of course) labors of a pathologically obsessive-compulsive variety and is assisted by various ants, river-daughters, etc in their completion. The bit where her sisters throw themselves off a mountain with vain hopes in heart is the stuff of pure Greek myth though. But the relevant point being, psyche, the butterfly, was symbolically close to infatuation and lust in Greek mythology.
3his rejoinder to such: "Style and Structure are the essence of a book; great ideas are hogwash."
In Japan, one singular butterfly symbolizes femininity, while a pair of butterflies symbolizes marital bliss. In Greek, the word for butterfly is also the word for soul, as well as the name of a character in a well known myth2. These allusions lend a certain credibility to the otherwise sordid nature of a certain paperback edition cover illustration belonging to Nabakov's Ada, as exhibited above in all of its ragged glory. Nabakov has been celebrated as one of the 20th century's finest prose stylists, although many have called him to task as relying on formal conceits and witty prose as masks for novels devoid of little inherent worth3 (although the fact remains that it is hard to decry the charms of anyone capable of lines such as "Let the credulous and the vulgar continue to believe that all mental woes can be cured by a daily application of old Greek myths to their private parts” and "There is nothing in the world that I loathe more than group activity, that communal bath where the hairy and slippery mix in a multiplication of mediocrity"). Today's installment of literary lust has the misfortune to be merely an excerpt from his masterwork "Ada." There is little to be found in this novel in the way of prolonged passages depicting rigid anatomical descriptions of amorous acts, yet the entirety of the text nearly throbs with anticipatory excitement; the deeply suggestive and sensual language allows the reader to complete for his or herself any actions hinted at by the narrative. The prose is practically engorged, in other words. For example:
"'I wannask,' she repeated as he greedily reached his hot pale goal.
'I want to ask you,'she said quite distinctly, but also quite beside herself because his ramping palm had now worked it's way through at the armpit, and his thumb on a nipplet made her palate tingle; ringing for the maid in Georgian novels-inconceivable without the presence of elettricita-
(I protest. You cannot. It is banned even in Lithuanian and Latin. Ada's note.)
'-to ask you...'
'Ask,' cried Van, 'but don't spoil everything' (such as feeding upon you, writhing against you).
'Well, why,' she asked (demanded, challenged, one flame crepitated, one cushion was on the floor), 'why do you get so fat and hard there when you-'
'Get where? When I what?'
In order to explain, tactfully, tactually, she belly-danced against him, still more or less kneeling, her long hair getting in the way, one eye staring into his ear (their reciprocal positions had become rather muddled by then).
'Repeat!' he cried as if he were far way, a reflection in a dark window.
'You will show me at once,' said Ada firmly.
He discarded his makeshift kilt, and her tone of voice changed immediately.
'Oh dear,' she said as one child to another. "It's all skinned and raw. Does it hurt? Does it hurt horribly?'
'Touch it quick,' he implored.
'Van, sweet Van,' she went on in the narrow voice the sweet girl used when speaking to cats, caterpillars, pupating puppies, 'yes, I'm sure, it smarts, would it help if I'd touch, are you sure?'"
and so on, in that style.
1see "I Have Never Wondered" and "In the Interest of Generating "Paddywhacks" for some context, if it should prove necessary.
2Psyche was the youngest of three princesses, and as is often the case in tales such as this, was undescribably desirable. It seemed that all who met this fair maiden grew inflamed with yearning. Such was the degree of distraction as a result of the fervor that this nubile instilled among all that people began to omit worshiping Aphrodite, saying to themselves "We have among us a mortal who truly embodies all that Aphrodite represents, why should we waste our time burning delicious animal fats to some distant goddess lounging about sipping ambrosia on some far off mountaintop?" Aphrodite, being a lust goddess, amongst other things, was naturally a capricious and vicious sort, and sent her son Eros, the god of childish infatuation, down to fuck with Psyche. He was given orders to prick her with one of his arrows in order to cause her to desire some ugly fellow (of course the worst punishment that Aphrodite could conceive would be that of a beautiful woman falling in love with an ugly man. But no one has ever accused the Olympians as being anything but amplified representations of humanities coarsest features, so). Psyche's beauty was such that even Eros could not withstand her guiles, even as she slept, so not only did he not prick her with his arrow, he went and pricked himself (hmmm) as he watched her sleep (creepy yes, see above aside on the nature of Greek divinity) and distracted by his desire for the fair maiden, forgot all about his duties of shooting his love-arrows willy-nilly about the world. This all goes on for quite a while, with all sorts of more fairy-tale elements seeping into the story, what with the bit where Psyche finds herself married to some strange fellow who keeps her well tended in a secluded valley but is instructed to never look upon his face else some dire fate will befall them, or the part where Aphrodite forces Psyche to undertake a series of three (of course) labors of a pathologically obsessive-compulsive variety and is assisted by various ants, river-daughters, etc in their completion. The bit where her sisters throw themselves off a mountain with vain hopes in heart is the stuff of pure Greek myth though. But the relevant point being, psyche, the butterfly, was symbolically close to infatuation and lust in Greek mythology.
3his rejoinder to such: "Style and Structure are the essence of a book; great ideas are hogwash."
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
"Allow Me to Name This Web-Log Post," Tom said with a sense of entitlement
In Which a bunch a five dollar words are used, insults to intellects are leveled, puns are listed, and you smile quietly to yourself in mild amusement
Here, today, at this time only, in the general vicinity of this web-blog, we shall be discussing a unique form of Paronomasia known as the "Tom Swiftly," or "Tom Swifties," depending on your level of pathology. Of course I use the term "discussing" in a misleading manner of arbitrariness when I actually mean "presenting a list," and for a change of pace, I shall not be putting forth an analysis and/or history of said phenomena, merely outlining a series of outstanding examples and allowing you, my dear readers, to "fill-in-the-dots" as the case may be. Should this task prove too difficult for you, may I suggest turning your lidded eyes away from this web-log and towards one more suited for yourself, perhaps one of thousands available featuring digitally altered daguerreotypes of celebrities accompanied by idle lies dreamed up by the casually vicious?
"I have a BA in social work," said Tom with a degree of concern.
"It's only average," said Tom meanly.
"I have no idea," Tom said thoughtlessly.
"My pencil is blunt," said Tom pointlessly
"The average frequency of my voice is 160 Hz," said Tom in measured tones.
"I see," said Tom icily.
"3.14159265," Tom said piously.
"What's a wide-angle lens?" asked Tom obtusely.
"I won't finish in fifth place," Tom held forth.
"I'm wearing a ribbon on my arm," Tom said with abandon.
"Dat's de end of April," Tom said in dismay.
"I feel so empty," Tom said vacuously.
"I'm swimming in the middle of Paris!" Tom shouted insanely.
"It's an actual parameter, not a formal parameter," was Tom's argument.
"Your honor, you're crazy!" said Tom judgmentally.
"I'm putting on my t-shirt, shorts, and sunglasses," Tom summarized.
Here, today, at this time only, in the general vicinity of this web-blog, we shall be discussing a unique form of Paronomasia known as the "Tom Swiftly," or "Tom Swifties," depending on your level of pathology. Of course I use the term "discussing" in a misleading manner of arbitrariness when I actually mean "presenting a list," and for a change of pace, I shall not be putting forth an analysis and/or history of said phenomena, merely outlining a series of outstanding examples and allowing you, my dear readers, to "fill-in-the-dots" as the case may be. Should this task prove too difficult for you, may I suggest turning your lidded eyes away from this web-log and towards one more suited for yourself, perhaps one of thousands available featuring digitally altered daguerreotypes of celebrities accompanied by idle lies dreamed up by the casually vicious?
"I have a BA in social work," said Tom with a degree of concern.
"It's only average," said Tom meanly.
"I have no idea," Tom said thoughtlessly.
"My pencil is blunt," said Tom pointlessly
"The average frequency of my voice is 160 Hz," said Tom in measured tones.
"I see," said Tom icily.
"3.14159265," Tom said piously.
"What's a wide-angle lens?" asked Tom obtusely.
"I won't finish in fifth place," Tom held forth.
"I'm wearing a ribbon on my arm," Tom said with abandon.
"Dat's de end of April," Tom said in dismay.
"I feel so empty," Tom said vacuously.
"I'm swimming in the middle of Paris!" Tom shouted insanely.
"It's an actual parameter, not a formal parameter," was Tom's argument.
"Your honor, you're crazy!" said Tom judgmentally.
"I'm putting on my t-shirt, shorts, and sunglasses," Tom summarized.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Der Rattenkonig
In days of yore, when Christendom's men of science believed that birds grew out of barnacles and common folk boiled pig's blood until it congealed into a form of pudding and then consumed said pudding, legends were told of a diabolical vermin gestalt known as the Rat King. As the cities of Christendom grew ever more densely populated, so too did the concentrations of urban filth. And as the accumulation of filth grew, attendant swarms of vermin feeding upon and living within said filth enmassed in the cities of men. And as growth in human populations led to cultural advances and political consolidation, so too did the rats advance in their own ways. No one can say exactly when or how it first happened, perhaps it was a mere accident, a throng of rats tussling over some tripes, or a frenzied verminous orgy, but somehow, in some rat's nest, their wiry tails became entangled and enmeshed in blood and feces, and by some miracle of whatever dire angel or saint claims dominion over these creatures they found their nervous systems somehow con-joined.
These Rat-Kings possessed enhanced intelligence, it was said, and were able to walk about as if one singular creature. The mental capacity of this gestalt entity was also augmented, to the point where a single rat-king could not only master the speech of Men, but reason and argue as well. And as was the nature of their kind, all the newfound talents of these rat-kings were concentrated upon consolidation of their dominion over the more singular of their species, and extracting boons and benefactions from Human-kind, either through slick persuasion or by organized thuggery.
A French priest was torn to shreds by a blood-thirsty mob after a parishioner spotted him splitting tithes with a rat-king in the deep recesses of a Parisian alley.
It was said the Musulemen entreated with the rat-kings of Vienna during their lengthy siege in vain hopes of gaining subterranean access to the holy city(the rat-kings owing no allegiance to the pope until a bargain was struck after their assasination of Benedict XIII (the Dominicans ever held a grudge against their kind, stronger than the instincts of man would naturally assume that is)).
In the savage Norselands where the Rats themselves claim heritage Rat-Kings often became so politically astute that they were advisors to the royals of Sweden, using the unique talents of their factions in intrigues against the Danes and Norwegians in exchange for free access to the sewers and alleys of Stockholm.
But as the enlightenment spread across Christendom the sway of the rat-kings diminished. Today one only finds the rat-kings in lore and museums, although to the adventurous who dare seek out hidden corridors of ancient sewers in the old capitals of Europe, who knows what may still be lurking, unseen to eyes of men, biding their time until some unknown chroniker's hands approach some nefarious configuration...
Monday, April 11, 2011
A Quiver of...
In which a Poser is Posed, for Means of Educating One Upon the Lexicographies of Various Animal Factions
Ah Monday! who's name is dreaded amongst drippy-nosed school-dickens and their progenitors alike as foreboding of yet another week of enforced dress codes and hours of un-desired work, whether it be memorizing tables of multiplication or key-boarding digits into vast grids; gazing out of casements as the beckoning rays of Helios caress the unfolding petals of new blooms and tempt shirkers into preparing all manner of outlandish excuses in vain hopes of escape. I trust this week-end held delights for all, my dear readers. I know not how you spent your dwindling freedoms, whether by way of indolent stupors or frenzied bacchanalia, I trust it treated you well. Myself, I whiled away my time constructing miniature replicas of famed moments in mathematical history (Archimedes sketching in the sand whilst being menaced by Romans, Euler at work upon his proof of ζ(2)= π2/6, a be-jailed Galois scribbling the into his note-book on the eve before his fate-ful duel, Kopernicus applying thin layers of quicksilver onto Tycho Brahe's moustache with aid of a tiny paint brush as the latter lay in slumber, and so on), preparing and then consuming tiny benedicts comprised of quails eggs and crab mushrooms, and composing love sonnets in Middle English (spring doth affect us all, one way or another).
Today's entry may take the form of both a list, if one is of a more passive nature, and a game, if one is feeling more ambitious. First shall be a series of terms for groups of various animals, and Second shall be a list of those animals referred to above, but scrambled as to pose a puzzle. The challenge is thus: Match the Animal with it's term of congregation. Enjoy!
flange
deceit
bed
smack
coalition
kindle, or intrigue
business
exultation
crash
knob
quiver
posse
singular
mischief
sleuth
flamboyance
mews
wisdom
charm
gulp
clowder
mutation
bazaar
guillemots
finches
ducks
boars
wombats
flamingos
mice
cormorants
cats
cobras
rhinoceros
thrush
ferrets
bears
lapwing
turkeys
capons
jellyfish
cheetahs
kittens
eels
larks
baboon
Pray give this an idle go-around in your afternoon hours, those desiring of reward for their labors may submit their entries by post, with the winners receiving one love-sonnet, to be recited at their window in the gloaming of some summer's eve.
Ah Monday! who's name is dreaded amongst drippy-nosed school-dickens and their progenitors alike as foreboding of yet another week of enforced dress codes and hours of un-desired work, whether it be memorizing tables of multiplication or key-boarding digits into vast grids; gazing out of casements as the beckoning rays of Helios caress the unfolding petals of new blooms and tempt shirkers into preparing all manner of outlandish excuses in vain hopes of escape. I trust this week-end held delights for all, my dear readers. I know not how you spent your dwindling freedoms, whether by way of indolent stupors or frenzied bacchanalia, I trust it treated you well. Myself, I whiled away my time constructing miniature replicas of famed moments in mathematical history (Archimedes sketching in the sand whilst being menaced by Romans, Euler at work upon his proof of ζ(2)= π2/6, a be-jailed Galois scribbling the into his note-book on the eve before his fate-ful duel, Kopernicus applying thin layers of quicksilver onto Tycho Brahe's moustache with aid of a tiny paint brush as the latter lay in slumber, and so on), preparing and then consuming tiny benedicts comprised of quails eggs and crab mushrooms, and composing love sonnets in Middle English (spring doth affect us all, one way or another).
Today's entry may take the form of both a list, if one is of a more passive nature, and a game, if one is feeling more ambitious. First shall be a series of terms for groups of various animals, and Second shall be a list of those animals referred to above, but scrambled as to pose a puzzle. The challenge is thus: Match the Animal with it's term of congregation. Enjoy!
flange
deceit
bed
smack
coalition
kindle, or intrigue
business
exultation
crash
knob
quiver
posse
singular
mischief
sleuth
flamboyance
mews
wisdom
charm
gulp
clowder
mutation
bazaar
guillemots
finches
ducks
boars
wombats
flamingos
mice
cormorants
cats
cobras
rhinoceros
thrush
ferrets
bears
lapwing
turkeys
capons
jellyfish
cheetahs
kittens
eels
larks
baboon
Pray give this an idle go-around in your afternoon hours, those desiring of reward for their labors may submit their entries by post, with the winners receiving one love-sonnet, to be recited at their window in the gloaming of some summer's eve.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
One Eggler of Import
In Which a Lesser Known Saint is Revealed at Last to Hold the Origin of an Easter Tradition, Allegedly.
St Simon of Cyrene was an ordinary eggler who was impressed by indolent imperial Romans into assisting Jesus in the act of carrying his cross to Calvary (as depicted in the 5th station of the cross). One gnostic apocrypha holds that along the way by some bumbling mis-fortune, Simon and Jesus got mixed up by the Romans leading to Simon's crucifixion in Jesus' place. Which is a sort of grim black joke that does not quite fit the style of the new testament in general ( while the old testament on the other hand...). Another gnostic tale holds that by some vaguely defined form of empathetic telepathy Simon felt the anguish of Christ on the cross, and after Jesus' expiration, found that his eggs had been covered in delightful and colorful patterns. Thus the easter tradition. As one text analyzing various gnostic versions of the testaments puts it: "Substantive evidence for this legend is weak."
St Simon of Cyrene was an ordinary eggler who was impressed by indolent imperial Romans into assisting Jesus in the act of carrying his cross to Calvary (as depicted in the 5th station of the cross). One gnostic apocrypha holds that along the way by some bumbling mis-fortune, Simon and Jesus got mixed up by the Romans leading to Simon's crucifixion in Jesus' place. Which is a sort of grim black joke that does not quite fit the style of the new testament in general ( while the old testament on the other hand...). Another gnostic tale holds that by some vaguely defined form of empathetic telepathy Simon felt the anguish of Christ on the cross, and after Jesus' expiration, found that his eggs had been covered in delightful and colorful patterns. Thus the easter tradition. As one text analyzing various gnostic versions of the testaments puts it: "Substantive evidence for this legend is weak."
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