In Queue for the Hawker

A woodcock scurried sideways across the earthy brown black earth, the ground scuttling beneath its tiny misshapen bird’s feet. At exactly 3:45am the woodcock crippled crossways across the now wet brown black earth, the rainy rain having lain a blemished on the once earthy brown black earth, the once-earth the woodcock scurry-scurried across sideways crippledly. ‘I feel sickly ill’ said the woodcock with a chirp and a twitter, his neb cloistered with wet brown black earthy earth. A blindfolded chessplayer skulked sulkingly across the blacktop black, his hat cupped (like an egg-cup cup) in the outstretched palm of his hand handily. ‘Twitter chirp twitter chirp chirp’ said the woodcock cockily. The blindfolded halfblind chessplayer croaked and moaned, his feet chipping the top of the blacktop black. ‘Oh but how I abhor chirping and twitter, makes a man unaccustomed to the egg and cup feel so fragile and weakly’ said the halfblind blindfolded chessplayer, the kip of his trouser bottoms belling and ponging, the blacktop black scurvy with eggshells and skulking. The man in the hat thought all this up, this nonsense and blather, whilst waiting in queue for the hawker to begin hawking his wares and cups. A slicker of wet rainy rain left a blemish on the once-earthy brown black earth, too slick for tomfoolery and childhood pranks. At this very moment, 4:28am, the woodcock and the blindfolded chessplayer and the man in the hat went their separate ways, each with a bone to pick with the hawker, the rainy rain and a man they had yet to meet.

Karlsruhe Baden-Wurttemberg

The shamble leg man came down with the gout on a Saturday afternoon at exactly 27½ minutes past four. He remember the exact time, to the half-second, as that was when he first notice, and felt, the burning stitch in his big bigger biggest toe.

The preacher’s son wore a friar’s cap and spoke in non-syllabi grunts. The first outbreak of the gout was in a small Amish town in a small Amish community with a small cinderblock church and a friar’s monastery where the preacher’s son lived in a friar’s cell with a friar’s Bible and a wooden mallet for whacking himself upside of the head, an act of contrition and absolution, so he was told.

Before living with the friar’s in the friar’s monastery the preacher’s son lived in the following places, some for a short while others for a longer while: Beyrouth Lebanon, Reykjavk Gullbringusysla, Og Vodafone Islandssimi, Iceland, Zgierz Lodz Kaczmarek Poland Gloucester College of Higher Education where he study Latin and Vectors, with little success, Gloucestershire UK, Cracow Malopolskie, the Academic Computer Centre where he drank enough computer cleaning fluid to keel over a large dog, Telefonica de Argentina where he worked as a ham-radio operator, again with little to middling success, Viedma Rio Negro Argentina, Karlsruhe Baden-Wurttemberg, Germany, London, City of London, Nuuk Netcafe v/A-Team/Comby ApS, Nuuk Vestgronland, Greenland, Penta College Schiphol, Noord-Holland the Netherlands, Vsters Vastmanlands Lan, Sweden, Koninklijke, Planet Technologies Noord-Holland the Netherlands, where he learned how to play chess blindfolded, with some success, NIB, National Internet Backbone, Lakhnau Uttar Pradesh, India, where he learned of the first outbreak of the gout from a Brahman, and Nocera Superiore, Campania Italy, where it was so hot he felt sickly and small.

The Proprietor’s Wife

The man in the hat wanted to visit places so far, far away that getting there would be half the trip. Places like Nevers Bourgogne, Konya Turkey, Mechelen Antwerpen, Searsport Maine, Sobreda, Setubal Portugal, Upplands-Vsby Stockholms Lan, South Shields South Tyneside, Kefar Habad HaMerkaz, El Palomar Buenos Aires, Argentina, Seoul Seoul-t'ukpyolsi, Punta Umbra Andalucia, Telefonica de Espana, Edinburgh City of Edinburgh, Stevenson College, Trento Trentino-Alto Adige, Universita' di Trento Italy, Fossano Piemonte Italy and one place that he had heard about but couldn’t remember the name of. He overheard that in a small family owned café in El Palomar Buenos Aires the proprietor’s wife made stewed oxtail in a double-boiler, bits and ends of oxtail, skin and flayed meat churning and rising to the top of the boil. She skimmed off the oil and fat, ladling fatty curds of oxtail and sinew into outstretched bowls. The diners ate in silence, the proprietor’s wife lording over them like a matronly school dietician, her eyelids ticking, feet kipping the tiles, her husband watching from behind the wooden bar, his hands making the sign of the cross above his breastplate. He wanted to go there, to the café in El Palomar Buenos Aires, and eat bowlfuls of oily fat oxtail, his lips greasy with oxblood, the proprietor’s wife eying him suspiciously, her feet cloven inwards like hooves.

Calculus Coprophagia

I have started taking a new reuptake inhibitor as the other reuptake inhibitor seems to have become less in·hib·i·tive. The old uptake inhibitor has lost its in·hib·it·a·bleness, meaning it does a poor job in·hib·it·ing, and believe you me I need all the in·hib·it·ing I can get. Fifteen years ago this coming September I was diagnosed with OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or as I so ineloquently refer to it, Turing's Disease, after the inventor of the first calculator, (Alan Mathison Turing, the most famous member of GC&CS, Alan Turing joined Bletchley Park in 1939. He invented the basis of cryptanalytic mathematics and special-purpose analytic machines, making major contributions to the exploitation of Enigma and other German cipher systems. Turing also played a key role in developing Colossus, the world's first programmable computer. After the war, working at Manchester University, he and Max Newman led a team that produced Britain's first general purpose stored programme computer). Being a counter, one 2 three 4 I have good reason to side-by-side with the imminent Mr. Turing. Shit is (as shit is shit, after all) it took me two long hard years to pass grade 10 math, so this counting shit is, well shitty.

Here is a short abridged list of names, or synonyms for OCD: Vectors Disease, Algebraic Savantism, Into’s and Out-of’s Imbecility, Calculus Coprophagia, Turing’s Tourette's, named after the great Swiss neurologist Georges Albert Édouard Brutus Gilles de la Tourette, Johann Carl Friedrich Gauss Geometric Aphasia, Les Haricot Noir de la Mathématique, Newton’s Doxological Nostalgias, Popper’s Potpourri, Goldbach's Conjectur, Integers Interruptus, Compulsive Metron Trigonometry, Precalculus Phobia, Function’s Fuckuppedness, Differential Deviance Disease, Indiscrete Mathematica Moronicism and Disambiguation Chaos Theory, commonly referred to as Deterministic Indeterminacy Disease. Now you should have a good idea, an inkling perhaps, of what I must contend with day in and day out. Good night and over and out, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 27½…

La Rue de La Maltese

A beggar with a gamy leg scrabbled inwards across the thruway in Tel Aviv-Yafo, Tel Aviv, a small bird cradled in the palm of his upturned hand. In Rabat, Rabat-Sale a beggar with a gamy leg scrabbled outwards across the expressway, a small bird coddled in the palm of his outturned hand. Unbeknown to one another they started the day in exactly the same manner, a bird in the hand, legs trebled and trilled with gaminess, each crisscrossing across the blacktop, the asphalt hotter than hell itself. ‘I need a bath’ thought the first beggar. ‘I too’, thought the second beggar, neither aware of the other’s need. Things happen in different places at the same time, neither thing or place aware that the other exists at all. One beggar with one bird in one expressway, thruway superhighway at the same time, but in different places. The world is a strange place, strange indeed.

In the town of Rybnik in the township of Katowice Poland a beggar with two gamy legs crossed the superhighway with his eye pressed closed, a wren’s foot keychain clutched in the palm of his hand. The one-eyed beggar stippled and crimped across the blacktop, the wren’s foot keychain jingle jangling in his hand. In the canton of Helsinki in Southern Finland a beggar with no eyes and a no legs cambered across the slick blacktop, a tiny blue bird’s egg balanced in the unturned palm of his hand. A beggar in Elmhurst New York shot himself in the foot, slowing him down as he crippled across the superthruway backwards crossways, a can of Hero’s Malt Liquor bobbling in his feeble hands.

A feeble man with a feeble stride strode defiantly across La Rue de La Maltese. Without any knowledge or care of where he was going, he headed westerly then easterly, then stopped, thought for a moment, and strode southerly then northerly, his flatcar cap kipped in the lining of his coat pocket. The feeble man with the feeble stride knew the Helsinki beggar and the beggar with two gamy legs from Katowice Poland, having met them both at the church bazaar one Saturday in May. All three men, beggars by trade, were in town on the same day for the inaugural opening of Ships’ Day. They ran into one another at the church bazaar, as all three men (beggars by trade) were in search of a Pop-siècle placemat with a dory sideboard. The legless man watched them from a distance, his scrap of cardboard kitted beneath his stump-ends. He overheard that three strange men, beggars by trade, were due in town this day and was curious to get a glimpse of them.

Epistle-istle, Crackle, Screw-bo

(His portmanteau dragged behind him like a caudal stick. His greatcoat portmanteau tailed behind him like a lazy child. His greatcoat coat dragged behind his portmanteau port like a lazy child swinging a caudal stick. The shamble leg man’s greatcoat was greater than the sum of its parts. Hem, greater than its hem). He, the shamble leg man, liked animal sauce on his boiled potatoes. Animal sauce is rendered from animal flesh, gristle, fat, tendon, hock, epistle-istle, crackle, screw-bone and water. The shamble leg man’s great-grandmamma made animal sauce in the big black skillet she kept on a hinge over the stove. Christmastime Easter Lent Passover Ukrainian Orthodox Christmastime Hanukah Daylight Savings Time, and any other time that was of middling importance, his great-grandmamma made animal sauce in the big black skillet that hung over the stove on a hinge.

His great-grandmamma knew how to make a beggars’ pudding from leftovers, a raw egg and skipjack meringue (Animal pudding with mint jelly). They ate very little during Passover and Daylight Savings Time, a pittance worth of dry toast and bare-cupboard pud·ding. The harridan swore up and down that her family ate next to nothing, and not just during Passover and Daylight Savings Time when there was so little time to save or pass over. His portmanteau dragged behind him like a caudal stick. His greatcoat portmanteau tailed behind him lik…imal flesh, gristle, fat, tendon, hock, epistle-istle, crackle, screw-bo…His great-grandmamma made a mess of the kitchen, tossing tosspot and larder, the nails on her fingers cored and heavy with grim and grime…mastime Easter Lent Passover Ukrainian Orthodox Christmastime Hanukah Daylight…nothing much was saved or passed over, nary a hare’s lolly or a birches’ cuppery.

The day broke unevenly, so much so, so unevenly that the man in the hat could feel the unevenness of the day breaking broken over his head. ‘I dislike these sort of days, these uneven unevenly days’ he said out loud to himself whisperingly. ‘I’d much prefer, much rather an evenly day, an even evenness, so even that it seems evenly even’. The skyward sky was blue cobalt azure Prussia blue, so blue, so blue cobalt azure Prussia blue it seemed impossibly so, impossibly blue. ‘Today I will venture out and see what the day has to offer, this uneven unevenness that passes itself off for a day, any day, this blue cobalt azure Prussia blue skyward sky day’. And with that he pulled up his gaiters and fell head-to-heel into the day.

Francis Bacon and Lucian Freud

http://www.francis-bacon.cx/ http://www.leninimports.com/lucian_freud_bio.html

Winnicott’s Child

Art is destruction, reconstruction and everything in between. Like Winnicott’s child the artist (painter, poet, writer, sculptor, etc) destroys in order to create. Through hatred for the object love is found and restored in the object; it is reconstructed into desire, phantasy and wish, the fulfillment of desire, phantasy and wish. The child must first destroy that which he loves, making the object an imagine, bringing the object into the self, the object and self becoming one and the same, possession of self and object as same. A hated object becomes an object of love, an internalized object that is contained within the child, an object destroyed (deconstructed) then held for and by the child, an object to amuse oneself with. My object, my love, my hatred. Mine.

There’s no time like the future. No, there is no time in the future, only the time we project onto it, the present time abstracted to the future, future time in the present, present time. Time out of mind, mindless time, timeless time abstracted from present time, now, now time, the present. This is what philosophers do to pass the time, play with time timelessness time.