Dreams, Memories, Visions Of life as a ‘story of the self-realization of the unconsciousness’ ... p. 17 Digging up bones and a little light in fog ... pp. 104, 107 Walking through a valley to hand a goddess an umbrella ... pp. 155, 161 § Of trees as the embodiments of life’s incomprehensible meaning ... p. 86 The bitterness of Freud and the analogy with God ... pp. 75, 175 A white dove transformed into the ghost of a customs official ...

A Brief Pataphysical Study of the Word ‘and’ in Poetic Titles When viewed under the lens of Alfred Jarry’s 'pataphysics — the so-called science of imaginary solutions that “symbolically attributes the properties of objects, described by their virtuality, to their lineaments” — the humble conjunction ‘and’ occupies a liminal space in poetic titles. Easily dismissed as a mere linguistic connector, ‘and’ here acts as a non-identical operator that defies conventional logic. Lon

# LanguageSpeaks ! A man carrying a voice recorder pauses at the door, enters. He looks a lot like Kafka but has the eyes of Tennyson. He possesses a picture of Saturn, and you don’t. It is green. If you like you can say the same. You can’t blame me for this. I am merely the host. The party has just begun. Enjoy yourself. He should have brought wine instead. Some people like voice recorders, some don’t. It’s not an issue. ‘Turn it down,’ he shouts. ‘I can’t

A Story so Untrue You Have to Believe It’s Real A Story so Untrue You Have to Believe It’s Real On foot from Edinburgh to Canterbury for a once-in-a-decade conference on "What It Means to Be a High-Functioning Humanzee in a Mythological World", we are discussing the cultural fallout of "phase-three scholasticism", which has rocked the academic world and the Catholic Church in Ireland, and is responsible for the suicide of at least five university deans and three bishops, as w

A tool for imitating movement, For the small things that penetrate, For the breath's expulsion ...

Cryptic The scent of a foreign newspaper in the morning: New ink on old investments and trades. While down in Berlin, the autobus returns to the depot. The driver wraps himself in a scene of noise and oil. The last of the rain is falling in spores, another plague. The bailiff, off duty, knows that trees take time. No ordinary articles in the universe's inventory. Get rid of more, of it all, he says. This is a career, Not a hobby. Have a snack, an apple, it's a hard fruit. No

Synthesis Save us! A sex-fiend went to the wheel of the train. Is this the way out? Yes, but flies crawl downwards. I have a picture of Saturn. The situation has changed: it is the wrong kind of number. The babies are crying. Well, then, it must be a holiday. It is green. If you like you can say the same. “Diabetes is on the increase.” It is the Americas: they are pushing me. into something almost

Shouting in Brackets I here we are (1) sitting in a circle transmitting silences to each other and waiting (+1) for beginning to announce its ending (= 2) yesterday a mouth declared: “I am starving” (-1) but tomorrow was found wanting (-1) (= 0) II Bracketed, subjects recede into concealment & a clearing presents itself in which speech is revealed via objects III “What’s to understand but a bunch of nerves?” “A plastic oesophagus is a canal in an unusual context.

Sophia among the Philosophers (excerpt from Discourse in the Garden) [Disguised.] Yes, it is I. In I come, out I go. Yes, I am it. It writes. I will write a supplication. Here. Now. As follows. And in that hall there was a cruel prison (which men don’t call fayre), a place of wasted time. [SOPHIA stops.] No, wait... Life is not growing like a tree and love is not to be had. God, our help, consider us when we pass. God, whose shrine stands in that hall, receive these

Discourse in the Garden: A Short Drama An olive grove. Night. The sound of approaching footsteps. SOCRATES: ‘Swounds! A dark day for strong flowers and cool breezes. Can you deny it? PLATO: Are you spreching to me, sir? SOCRATES: I am, almost certainly. [Sits beside PLATO.] Call me I am. PLATO: Ha! Welcome. Call me anything you like. I’ll deny it later. SOCRATES: Ho! I’ve only lived the one life. Where next? Should I go on? PLATO: Always going on. Even when you’re half dead.