Saturday, November 24, 2007

Loafers in a Dangerous Clime

I kind of like Mark's (The Walking Man's) writing when in between his prescribed painkillers, he seems to get these feelings of being able to see around corners, the sense that there is a hidden dimension to life which is quite invisible as we go about our daily routines.

Wired on my own drugs, mostly legal, I sometimes come to the following intimations:

Your brain is a creature.

It is something of a crisis manager. It works on signals of order/disorder.
When disorder affects it, it loads something like an oldfashioned Roman catapult and kicks at the disorder.
("Kick at the darkness till it bleeds some light"--Bruce Cockburn).

Your brain, with the right drugs, will hear the running tap in your apartment. When the faucet drips, drips, there is order.
But when I starts to run in a small stream, it's disorder.

(Obviously, I don't get out enough).

There is disorder in my life, and probably your life.

This is the time of the full moon. Everything is in disorder, from your stubbing your toe agains the toilet bowl in the morning to the sure inability to tie shoelaces. There is also the landlord and dunning calls from collection agencies. And the extra fillip is having no cigarettes.
The tap is running free.

How to get the disorder back to order?

The answer, I have deduced in my legal drug state, is four.


This is not pi, neither is it any computer protocol.

Simply four.

And what does it all have to do with?

Doris Lessing, probably.
She just won the Nobel, and I am in great disorder.

I have never like Doris Lessing's writing. I found it somehow tomboyish and jejune, no matter that she is older than I am.
But she did say in one book, a situation of a double triangle, four people, having sex, married, but not to each other while a potential fifth lover is in the wings, "Five into four won't go."

Recently, I have been in a situation like that.

But for this insight Doris Lessing got the Nobel?

I think there is great disorder on the Nobel Committee.
Five into four will indeed not go.

The Nobel Prize swamped by fashionable Global Warmers, people limited in sex and outright communists.
The Nobel Committee seems to fly in the face of truth itself, the preoccupation of any serious novelist.

I long for the days when there was order, when deserving authors got the Nobel, William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, Jean-Paul Sartre (who did smell a rat early and turned down the prize).

Ah my brain, my poor drug-addled brain. Five into four won't go.

My brain is sensing disorder. It wants to kick the disorder out.

The next Nobel-nominated author will be a conservative, but not the Neocon type.

This I know.

Someone on the committee will say, "Christ is coming."

And the entire committe will wonder what the hell they'd been thinking.


TomCat said...

Ivan, I'm happy se see you desplaying your award. ;-)

Josie said...

Ivan, yay...! Someone else other than yours-truly won the award at TomCat's.

Ivan, what kind of cigarettes do you smoke? I think I know what I want to get you for Christmas. We can't have our favorite curmudgeon without cigarettes. :-)

And, no, that doesn't mean you have to get me something for Christmas. Well, you can write me a story. said...

Better to be apprehended as a rapist rather than a chicken plucker, I say.

(I think I've been hanging with too many Newfs) :) said...

Rothman's Blue.

Oh, hell, when my son says he doesn't drink anything stronger that pop, he might add "but then Pop would drink just about anything."

Yeah, Rothman's Blue--but then Dad would smoke just about anything!

Oh nicotine, you are so pristine!

Thanks for thinking of old volcano- head here, Josie.

As for the story, they are so much like the fare for the Champion Oyster Eater out of old Bob and Ray radio.

Reporter to the champion oyster eater: How many oysters can you eat?
COE: "Three."

Roporter: Three??! I thought you were the champion oyster eater!"

COE: "Yeah, but they're slippery little devils!"

Short stories are slippery little devils, but I will try to devise one for you, Jones.

Thanks. said...

p.s. to Josie,

I would walk a mile for a Camel, and frequently do, though some of those Camels are soggy in the snowy weather and kinda hard to light. :)

Josie said...

And I hear Camels spit at ya.

Heh. said...

Oh those camels.

Legionnaire said...

Most men that have tried camels,
prefer women.

L said...

Though in the snow and cold, the're kinda tight, and full of fright.

eric1313 said...

What if you've been raised in chaos, brought up in disorder?

What if you can see the pattern even in the most senseless of situations?

My brain is a creature that delights in the unexpected, and can see the patterns that others would write off as chaos. Few things can be as predictable or unpredictable as the human heart. Nothing can be as unpredictable as that heart in a state of desperation.

Congratulations on your award. Hope you get the faucet fixed!

champagne rain said...

Award , would be grand.
A single cell is easily scanned...

The drip of a faucet, tells your brain, that it is on, with little strain...

the walking man said...

Invisible yes hidden no.

And uhhhhh if someone else is buying go for the high end tobacco.


mark said...

Hi legionnaire,

Fear and loathing, I guess. said...

Whoops--that last comment was meant for "i said".
Oh well, keep it all in a cartridge.

But LOL for legionnaire. Hee. said...

Eric 1313,
I am positive you are so intelligent that even your goldfish travel in universities.

Cogent comment.
...And my super is too worried about high-cost plumbers to get that tap fixed right away. said...

champagne--that really is a good magnum. said...

Walking Man,

Heaven forbid I shuld sell my birthright for a mess of Camels, but I probably would.
A man can always use a mess of Camels. said...

p.s. to legionnaire,

Said Goldilocks to the Big Bad Bear,
"What's the matter with you guys lately, doesn't anybody f*ck any more?

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