This is the beginning osf my book, its been like this for months because I haven't had the time or the loneliness to write , but it is still at work. It's an introduction to a novel that aims to rupture the continuum of the novel; to examine semiotics and give a tongue in cheek attitude to the readers interpretation of the text. Imagine quantum uncertainty brought into the realm of semiotics (Pynchon is perhaps some inspiration). Grammar, spelling etc is of no consequence right now.
This is the beginning but I intend to draw together the ideas of the protagonists swollen leg as a tongue in cheek approach to the Oedipus complex (Oedipus=swollen foot for the classics scholars), and Freud's studies of hysterical paralysis which were his earliest works. Hysteria, as per freud is to do with sex too...hysterectomy etc. Then later a bit abou the fool and finally an insight into cotards delusion as a piss take of reality. Theres a bit more in my journal but here goes:
I remember staring at the broken glass when it first happened. Watching the light refracting endlessly between the shattered pieces. Of course it would have been possible to trace the trajectory of these rays of light. Take into account all the variables of course; the nature of the impact would detemine the exact structure of the shards and their resting place. The same phycisist might see where each point of light hit and where and whence it came and went. So I sat and stared. At what point would you be able to work it out, what with the sun passing overhead all the time making it harder? Changing the variables, spinning the web. So we do the maths. And we wait it out.
I have all the time in the world. Maybe we will come back to this problem at a future point. I can’t help but return to it.Freeze it in time. But let me spin my own web.
So you guessed. I’m a neurotic. Self absorbed, I waited for madness to creep up but it never came. I was far to intimate with myself, my mind and its gaps. I could see the warning signs and as soon as answers come they are cruelly snatched, dissected. I return to waiting. I knew I could not have being going mad. Neurotic maybe, certainly but not mad. I’d given up on the fact of madness long ago. Waited and waited. The wait without hope. With madness perhaps there would have been some kind of revelation. Some final ending, or at least understanding. Still Shapes, signs, Hints. At an ending, Rather neurosis, I’d sepnt far too long watching for it, to self absorbed for the cloak of insanity, to suddenly click into place with the answer. Serpents perhaps, or mind control, or aliens. But no, simple hints, shapes signs. Of an ending.
I’m sat in the waiting room. The whole thing. Some polite chat. But mostly the empty seats that are given the most presence, revered almost. We will not sit together with strangers, so we revere the absent. The gaps that separate us. The absences betweens things, the separate, the spaces that make the pattern. That allow me to separate my words, to tell you this.So we mind the gap, we travel onwards our separate but intertwined trajectories and we mind the gap. Sometimes nothing is holy, sometimes everything is holy. Semiotic agnosticism, or rather deliberate fucking about. I’m spinning a web remember? Do keep up. That’s didacticism and you are already caught up in it.
The surgery is St. Mark’s, a converted church and it is here we bring our bodily disgusts; our seedy underbellies; our pregnancies and stenches; our rotting feet and our own mortalities. Our births and deaths. We marry the profane with the sacred and do what we can. And our births and deaths are not quite so far apart as you might suppose and neither are those presences and absences. But still the gaps.
And on the walls of this hallowed space, a picture and the picture is this. A creation of a computer capable of working out the possible distortions in vision which will take this vision into account. So at first glance, it is a two dimensional picture made up of fractured of images of itself and repeated almost endlessly. And stare at it hard enough and you might just see the image leap out at you in vibrant three dimensions and become whole again. They call it a stereogram.
And given space and time enough, an image might just leap out of the novel and present itself in the fourth dimension as complete. But time is a another matter altogether and something you will have to lend me some more of. To be given time and present it over this all together.
Shakespeare, I think used this. I forget which play. The end of the proscenium boundary and the involvement of the audience. On the wall in one of his plays hung a picture entitled ‘We Three Fools’; the picture of course, is a picture of two fools, the third being you. And so he poked fun at the proscenium, the barrier between the players and the audince.
The fool is one thing I will come back to…the holy fool, the philokalia and the Tarot representation of this…of one man, the fool, stepping of a cliff into the void. The fool is one of the most revered concepts of the Tarot. So us three fools, the narrator, the narrated and yourself. Let us continue.
In time of course, which you have been generous in lending. In which one system leaks its energy into another. If this book were closed it would be a closed system. But we are open are we not? Are we open with each other, I and thou?
This is the beginning but I intend to draw together the ideas of the protagonists swollen leg as a tongue in cheek approach to the Oedipus complex (Oedipus=swollen foot for the classics scholars), and Freud's studies of hysterical paralysis which were his earliest works. Hysteria, as per freud is to do with sex too...hysterectomy etc. Then later a bit abou the fool and finally an insight into cotards delusion as a piss take of reality. Theres a bit more in my journal but here goes:
I remember staring at the broken glass when it first happened. Watching the light refracting endlessly between the shattered pieces. Of course it would have been possible to trace the trajectory of these rays of light. Take into account all the variables of course; the nature of the impact would detemine the exact structure of the shards and their resting place. The same phycisist might see where each point of light hit and where and whence it came and went. So I sat and stared. At what point would you be able to work it out, what with the sun passing overhead all the time making it harder? Changing the variables, spinning the web. So we do the maths. And we wait it out.
I have all the time in the world. Maybe we will come back to this problem at a future point. I can’t help but return to it.Freeze it in time. But let me spin my own web.
So you guessed. I’m a neurotic. Self absorbed, I waited for madness to creep up but it never came. I was far to intimate with myself, my mind and its gaps. I could see the warning signs and as soon as answers come they are cruelly snatched, dissected. I return to waiting. I knew I could not have being going mad. Neurotic maybe, certainly but not mad. I’d given up on the fact of madness long ago. Waited and waited. The wait without hope. With madness perhaps there would have been some kind of revelation. Some final ending, or at least understanding. Still Shapes, signs, Hints. At an ending, Rather neurosis, I’d sepnt far too long watching for it, to self absorbed for the cloak of insanity, to suddenly click into place with the answer. Serpents perhaps, or mind control, or aliens. But no, simple hints, shapes signs. Of an ending.
I’m sat in the waiting room. The whole thing. Some polite chat. But mostly the empty seats that are given the most presence, revered almost. We will not sit together with strangers, so we revere the absent. The gaps that separate us. The absences betweens things, the separate, the spaces that make the pattern. That allow me to separate my words, to tell you this.So we mind the gap, we travel onwards our separate but intertwined trajectories and we mind the gap. Sometimes nothing is holy, sometimes everything is holy. Semiotic agnosticism, or rather deliberate fucking about. I’m spinning a web remember? Do keep up. That’s didacticism and you are already caught up in it.
The surgery is St. Mark’s, a converted church and it is here we bring our bodily disgusts; our seedy underbellies; our pregnancies and stenches; our rotting feet and our own mortalities. Our births and deaths. We marry the profane with the sacred and do what we can. And our births and deaths are not quite so far apart as you might suppose and neither are those presences and absences. But still the gaps.
And on the walls of this hallowed space, a picture and the picture is this. A creation of a computer capable of working out the possible distortions in vision which will take this vision into account. So at first glance, it is a two dimensional picture made up of fractured of images of itself and repeated almost endlessly. And stare at it hard enough and you might just see the image leap out at you in vibrant three dimensions and become whole again. They call it a stereogram.
And given space and time enough, an image might just leap out of the novel and present itself in the fourth dimension as complete. But time is a another matter altogether and something you will have to lend me some more of. To be given time and present it over this all together.
Shakespeare, I think used this. I forget which play. The end of the proscenium boundary and the involvement of the audience. On the wall in one of his plays hung a picture entitled ‘We Three Fools’; the picture of course, is a picture of two fools, the third being you. And so he poked fun at the proscenium, the barrier between the players and the audince.
The fool is one thing I will come back to…the holy fool, the philokalia and the Tarot representation of this…of one man, the fool, stepping of a cliff into the void. The fool is one of the most revered concepts of the Tarot. So us three fools, the narrator, the narrated and yourself. Let us continue.
In time of course, which you have been generous in lending. In which one system leaks its energy into another. If this book were closed it would be a closed system. But we are open are we not? Are we open with each other, I and thou?
