[lit-ideas] Re: The Life and Letters of Speranza
- From: "Mike Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sat, 19 Jan 2008 17:33:09 -0600
JL asks:
>> Is "Cupid" the deification of love, or its personification?<<
Apparently JL has not read my Seminole work: "Rhymes Without Reason, Time
Without Seasons" wherein this very topic is discussed beyond the point of mere
disgust. To quote myself: "Whenever the topic 'Coptic' comes up, I leave the
room. Coptic and topic do not rhyme. Why then stay around? Take Cupid, for
instance. Cupid rhymes with stupid and, accordingly, cupidity usually leads to
stupidity. That makes sense. And it's fun to talk about. Topic and Coptic
cannot be broached without violence to ear aethetics. But tropic and topic can
be approached, so too can the Can-can, and a toucan too. Life is full of
topics. Take, for instance, 'room' and 'womb' and 'tomb' and 'doom' and
'loom.' I can easily imagine discussing the womb as the loom of doom, and who
hasn't head discussions on the need to leave room in the tomb for your comb. Ha
ha! That last one was a joke on all you folk. Get it? Life is a subtle
muddle so pay close attention, don't close your mind to unvoiced distinctions,
listen carefully or you won't hear the crime in the rhyme. Read my essay, "The
Thames And Other English Names. Why British Ear Rings Are Led By Shakespearian
Standards". The point I make here is what are you going to rhyme "deification"
with? Certainly not "personification." No, no, no, no. Deification and
Meification -- sure, we all do that all the time. But "personification"? What
-- ????? And what of love? Is Love the lost glove in your life? Or is Love
the dove that shits on your shirt? Does Love come from above, then why does it
show below?
In another of my persimmonal books "Mere, Mirror, Merriest: What Happens When
Comparatives Go Astray", I develop the thesis that "to speak is a violence
against silence and should only be permitted to be committed in order to
preserve order and sometimes lives." JL's translation of the conversation he
unearthed of Gurkha soldiers proves my thesis:
"GURKHA 1: Bley baa Scotch and rum go go go uphill reysar argie bloody
GURKHA 2: HA! Teach lesson ya ya uphill go kill bley Buddah
GURKHA 1: Ready! Wanna some poppers?
GURKHA 2: Nay, thanks. Budha Alah and Jesus Christ, Fucklands Fuckers
Argies.
"---- so they went up the hill. Reports from Argentine soldiers -- terrified
as they were -- indicate that they were (the Gurkhas) were laughing all the
way, as if they thought it was fun. (And perhaps it was for them). Also, they
were killing each other on the way up the hill, and strongly under the
influence of whatever led them to find war a cheerful adventure not to be had
in the land where they belong (not the Fucklands, precisely)."
I wish I had had this quote for my book. It is proof positive of the
brilliance of my position: "Shut up and listen to the silence." Inside
silence, words keep to themselves. They keep the faith, as it were. And it
were. For what else do we have but faith that the words we use mean what they
say? Suppose a word gets bored and decides to go another way. Like "gay".
Like "cool". Like "awesome". Like "like". Just shut up and the words will
stay where they are. That's all I have to say. So Roger wilco, over and out.
Outta sight! Dig it. Gotta skeddaddle. Be groovy. You're just too, "too".
Mike Geary
Memphis
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