[lit-ideas] Re: Sunday Twofer (with more letters in)
- From: Mike Geary <jejunejesuit.geary2@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Thu, 1 Aug 2013 13:36:12 -0500
Brute Farce writes:
"The friend remains and so does my lack of compassion."
I'm confused. Where are your friend's remains? Don't take it personally
-- well, yes, do: you need a good copy editor. I do wonder why you think
you should you have compassion for his remains. As one of those Roman
writers wrote: "Praise for a man's ashes is a little late." Can't remember
who said that. It must have been after the Invasion of England though else
it would be in Latin -- I forget just when that was -- the invasion of
England -- I know it wasn't 1066, that's when the Normans crashed the
party, nothing normal about them though -- no, the Roman invasion was in
something BC. At any rate, let me just say that I have no compassion for
your friend's remains either, nor for you. However I am glad that I read
this missive. It made me wonder if maybe I could bottle some of that
hypo-oxygenated air and sell it as a hallucinogen. Lots of bucks there.
-- before JL gets on his high horse and claims that " A hallucinogen"
should be "AN hallucinogen" I refer him to my article in the MLA Journal
"Before 'H' There Were Only Volwels" in which it is proven that IF the "h"
sound is sounded, then a consonant is not only not needed, it is not
welcomed.
I'm reading Irving Wallace's "Infinite Jest" -- or should I say I'm trying
to read it. It is very and wickedly funny, but aggravating as hell. I
assume hell is aggravating. Never been there myself. Not that I know of,
certainly there was no sign on the door. Two theories about hell that I
know of: (1) a place of utter aloness, (2) a fireplace where you play an
integral part. Who's the poet said hell is either "fire" or "ice" and
claimed "ice" would suffice? I'm forgetting everything of late. Frost, I
think it was. Strange that a guy named Frost would self-identify with
hell. Oh, well, who am I to complain?
Still writing the wonderfully wonderful novel God Intoxicated. Takes place
in Memphis, of course. Even God can't take this place seriously. Problem
is the novel is scheduled for 784 pages and I'm only on 104. Shit, hell
and fuck. A long way to go, so few years. But I'll get it done.
Socialism is on my side, giving me more typewriter time.
Until next time, be real.
or be a rock,
or be an island,
but most of all be saving your money to buy my novel: "God Intoxicated: A
Really Bad Weekend In Memphis."
Tootles,
J. Michael Geary (rhymes with weary)
On Wed, Jul 31, 2013 at 4:53 PM, Eric Yost <mr.eric.yost@xxxxxxxxx> wrote:
> >> On Christmas Day 2012 I slipped on lava on Maui and slit my shin. The
> cut was both long and deep.
>
> That is unfortunate. When last in Maui, I took the bike tour of the
> volcano. After a transcendent orange-clouded sunrise, my companions were
> unwilling to climb farther up the boulder slope to the observatory,
> claiming dizziness from high altitude. My lack of compassion -- lighting
> a cigarette, muttering, "Ugh, what kind of adventurers are you?" --
> blinded me to dangers of the ten mile ride downhill. One of my
> companions wiped out around a sharp curve, and he and his bicycle almost
> skidded off the mountain and fell thousands of feet. Bruised and aching,
> my friend nevertheless remounted and we rode into the sugar cane fields
> below without incident. The friend remains and so does my lack of
> compassion. I am often incapable of making allowances for others,
> especially in hypo-oxygenated situations. As I age, I expect similar
> treatment from younger people. There is compensation in the universe,
> and I will know such dismissive treatment will be my own damn fault.
>
> Regards,
> Brute Farce
>
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