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Chuck F.

Mar 30, 1984, 10:31:52 AM3/30/84

Before broaching my theme, I think it stupid that it should
be necessary (I imagine not everyone will be of my opinion,
if I am mistaken) for me to set beside me an open inkwell
and a few sheets of unspitballed paper. Thus it will be
possible to begin, with love, this final article, the series
of instructive articles I have longed to produce. Articles
of a relentless utility!

Our hero realized that by frequenting caves and taking refuge
in inaccessible places he was transgressing the rules of
logic and setting up a vicious circle. For if on the one
hand he thus encouraged his repugnance for man by the
compensation of solitude and distance, and passively
circumscribed his limited horizon amid stunted bushes,
brambles, and creepers, on the other hand his activity no
longer found any nutriment to feed his perverse instincts.
Consequently he resolved to draw nearer to human agglomerations.

The radiant past has made brilliant promises to the future:
it will keep them. To scrape together my sentences I needed to
employ the natural method, regressing to the savages so
they may give me lessons. Simple and majestic gentlemen, their
gracious mouths ennoble all that flows from their tattooed

It has been proved that nothing in the world is laughable.
Droll but lofty planet. Grasping a style some may find naive
(when it is so profound), I make it serve to interpret ideas
which unfortunately may not seem imposing. For that very
reason, ridding myself of the light and skeptical turn of
ordinary conversation, and prudent enough not to pose...
I no longer know what I was intending to say, for I do not
remember the start of the sentence. But I know this: poetry
happens to be wherever the stupidly mocking smile of duck-faced
man is not. First I am going to blow my nose, because I need
to, and then, mightily aided by my hand, I shall again take up
the pen-holder my fingers had let fall.

Without resolving to go further, I am wondering whether I spoke
of the way to kill flies. I did, didn't I? It is no less true
that I did not speak of the destruction of the rhinoceros. Of
flies: one crushes them between the thumb and forefinger.

If the reader should find this article too long, I trust he will
accept my apologies; but let him expect no servilities from me.
Anyhow, how do you know you won't like it? I suspect it will
delight those twin hideous holes in your unspeakable snout;
your nostrils, dilated with sublime content, will ask nothing
more, for they shall be sated with a perfect happiness, not
unlike the ecstasy of angels living in heaven:

It was a spring day. Birds spilled out their warbling canticles,
and humans, having answered their various calls of duty, were
bathing in the sanctity of fatigue. Everything was working out
its destiny: trees, planets, sharks. All except the Creator!

He was stretched out on the highway, his clothing torn. His
lower lip hung down like a soporific cable. His teeth were
unbrushed, and dust clogged the blond waves of his hair. Numbed
by a torpid drowsiness, crushed against the pebbles, his body
was making futile efforts to get up again. His strength had
left him, and he lay there weak as an earthworm, impassive as
tree-bark. Gouts of wine swamped the ruts trenched by the nervous
twitches of his shoulders. Swine-snouted brutishness shielded
him with protective wing and cast on him its loving look. His
two slack-muscled legs swept the soil. Blood flowed from his
nostrils: his face had hit a stake as he fell. He was drunk!
He filled the air with garbled comments I will refrain from
repeating here; even if the Supreme Drunkard has no self-respect,
I still do.

We will never know how difficult a thing it becomes, constantly
to be holding the reins of the universe. Sometimes the blood
rushes to the head as one strives to wrest from nothingness a
new race of spirits. The Mind, overstimulated, retreats and
perhaps once in a lifetime may well fall into aberrations.
Let us withdraw silently.

I have forgotten where I was. To construct mechanically the
brain of such a somniferous tale, it is not enought to dissect
nonsense and mightily to stupify the reader's intelligence, so
as to paralyze his faculties for the rest of his life by
fatigue; one must, besides, make it somnambulistically impossible
for him to move, against his nature forcing his eyes to cloud
over at your own fixed stare. I mean -- not to make myself better
understood, but only in order to develop my train of thought
which through a most penetrating harmony interests and irritates
at the same time -- that I do not think it necessary, in order
to reach the proposed end, to invent a style quite outside the
ordinary course of nature, whose pernicious breath seems to
unsettle even absolute truths; but to bring about a similar
result (consonant, moreover, with the laws of aesthetics, if
one thinks it over) is not as easy as one imagines: this is
what I wanted to say. If death arrests my efforts, I want the
mourning reader at least to be able to say to himself: One must
give him his due. He has considerably cretinized me. What
wouldn't he have done had he lived longer? -- Let those touching
words be engraved on my marble tombstone.

But I have gone on long enough. It is time to curb my
inspiration and to pause a while along the way. It is good
to inspect the course already run, and then, limbs rested,
well.... To complete a stage of a journey is not easy, and the
wings become very weary during a high flight without hope and
without remorse. Let us go no further through the minefields of
this impetuous article. The crocodile will not change a word
of what gushes from his cranium. It can't be helped if some
furtive shadow, roused by the laudible aim of avenging the
humanity unjustly attacked, surreptitiously opens the door
of my room and, brushing against the wall like a gull's wing,
plunges a dagger into the ribs of the wrecker, the plunderer,
of celestial flotsam! Clay might just as well dissolve its
atoms in this manner as in another.

*<--- chuck --->*

BTL Columbus

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