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Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Thwarted banter and the glory of disorder

There's a theme developing with these latest posts, yes, for the voice of inspiration has echoes, and I was going to apologise for it but shan't. Not for any particular reason mind you, just that such a move would allow it all to tie in rather nicely with the yet-to-be-written epitomising last line, which if I'm not mistaken is the proper way to do things; the first paragraph melded with the final sentence so as to have the reader forget the shambolic middle's lack of reference to either.

Having since re-written this entry three times however, determined to see the concept through and stubbornly maintaining some of its original structure as the facade around it collapses, this pretty little encapsulation idea probably won't happen.

And feel free to ignore sentence structure too - it serves far less purpose than the words.

The same, fortuitiously enough, can also be said of dialogue.

And food too apparently (I remember Graham Kerr mentioning this on his cooking show, how taste was actually ninth down the list of factors which influence the enjoyment of food - behind such things as smell, texture, colour, appearance, temperature, et cetera); a veritable dog's breakfast of subliminal ingredients which neatly(?) parallel this terribly-structured post thus far.

Glossing over tenuous associations which seem difficult to pin down beneath any semblance of order however, onwards we move t'ward dialogue and how it's handled within Catharsis ...


Basically, besides finding personal exchanges within books largely uninteresting (and to be perfectly frank, usually downright annoying), there was no particular need for me to employ them other than to merely illustrate basic tensions where necessary, and so normal speech was used only sparingly (and even then, only where unavoidably required) with the vast majority of verbal transactions being constructed using the cut-up technique, as popularized by Brion Gysin and William Burroughs in the early 1960's.

The results reflect with a fair degree of personal accuracy the general confusion that's experienced by a socially inept communicator during conversations in an overtly social setting; a barrage of verbal noise/chaos, underlying themes exposed as all-devouring paranoias, pursuing madness, all that sort of malarkey ... though I also quite like the subtle nod these cut-up sequences lend towards verbal misunderstandings in general, as per those illustrated in Ellis' American Psycho - "Murders and executions" "Mergers and acquisitions"


The more justifications the better I suppose, though at the end of the day my long-held fascination with the 'Mr Bradley Mr Martin' sections of The Burroughs File are most culpable, having fundamentally altered the way in which I read literature. Or perhaps having merely highlighted the way I'd always read literature but of which I'd never consciously been aware; written words are seen as textures of varying strengths, or rather 'felt' as such when I read them, as explained by the bouba/kiki effect.

Delving a bit further, much weight is also given to the euphonic/cacaphonic merit of phrases (phonaesthetics), all of which explains why I can often find myself having read chapter upon chapter of a book without making any attempt whatsoever to follow the storyline, and why, once finished, I won't necessarily recall much of the plot's detail or structure - nor even key events or characters. And why some 'spiky' books don't make it past my reading their first paragraph. And why this blog entry has taken so terribly long to construct, for whilst I know it's appalling in some (if not most) respects, it remains delightfully ironic in others - and so, for purposes of mere example, I'm letting it slide and publishing the bastard regardless of the pins I'm feeling in my skin whilst re-reading it ...

Some of the key ideas mentioned above (if you managed to isolate any!) will be embellished upon (separately, I might add) over the next few days; I fear that too much interesting research has clusterfucked my initial draft to the point of sabotage.

It cannot be saved, and in pieces must now rest.