So Well This Is Fine With Me

The Philosophy Language, umpteenth revised edition

2006-11-04T17:54:00.000Z

When will the icicle melt, she said, and that was just how I felt, and I had nothing on save a belt. So the belt felt like it were melting, so bolting out through the door I wondered why the various meanings of different words never overlapped (not to mention worlds apart and words agape).

Unpalatable & untranslatable French joke

2006-10-26T08:08:00.000+01:00

What is a Bayard sandwich ?

A butterless reproachless sandwich.

The Philosophy of Blinks, vol. 8

2006-10-26T08:03:00.000+01:00

This is not true and this is untrue and this is most obviously a lie this is a most mendacious and the awfullest lie I have ever heard, and this is very untrue indeed. This is untrue and the philosophy of blinks is inevitably enough the philosophy of lies and the philosophy written by liars has nothing to do with blinks or with the theory of blinks while I constantly invert the letters and write throat instead of theory, and I don't know why. And this is not true and untrue and this is untrue and isn't this very untrue indeed, and isn't this the apex of mendaciousness (if blinks so can be called) ?

Umpteenth mousepad, vii

2006-10-24T14:57:00.000+01:00

This is the umpteenth time I've been asking you not to speak in gloglish, quoth the umpire. Oh yeah the umpire strikes black.

Hadmouse, vi

2006-10-24T11:37:00.000+01:00

Ma dose. This is it. I've had it. You're way off the limit !

And my path is a maze to you, ii

2006-10-24T11:07:00.000+01:00

You're amazed, yet I most certainly shall repeat it : globish and "global English" are the murderers of English, and are indeed the murderers of language as a creative medium, hence I reject gloglish and shall indeed insist on writing in English or singlish.

Maze = path (5th part, section ii)

2006-10-24T11:03:00.000+01:00

There are some who call it globish, and there are some as call it global English. Watch out you damned ogling googlish goblins ! There's no gloglish in this weblog !!!

(The only English that I speak and the only English that I write is English and I'd care to call it singlish.)

Mousepath, v

2006-10-24T11:00:00.000+01:00

Is a path of war the same as a warpath ? Tribes are on the path of war, and Boeing is on the warpath. So what about the Grapes of Wrath ? Is wrath on a par with anger ? Don't look back, as there's some danger (there). (There you are.)

Mousepath, iv

2006-10-24T10:55:00.000+01:00

In a mousehole there is no pin, and five-pin bowling is all Detroit citizens are interested in. Oh give me a pack of Camels for fuck's sake. Then I vanished into a mousehole, and there was luckily enough even in small print no mousetrap, no there was no mousetrap in my mousehole, and was I mouse ? You lousy loner in your crowd, am I or am I not a mouse ?

In a nutshell (iii.a)

2006-10-24T10:47:00.000+01:00

Like egret, like cattle. Like targets in a battle. Like two peas on a mousepad. Like two fleas in a pot. Oh yes indeed like two flies smoking pot.

Mousepad, iii

2006-10-24T08:45:00.000+01:00

Is the plural of mousepad mousepads, or shouldn't it rather be micepads ? With rice pudding undoubtedly there is not a shadow of a doubt.

Mousepad, ii

2006-10-24T08:43:00.000+01:00

In the office next to mine there is an old battered dilapidated mousepad with the months of the years 1999 and 2000 printed small close to the logo of a French bank. An old dilapidated mousepad, was I thinking while dialling the phone number of a colleague.

Mousepad, i

2006-10-24T08:41:00.000+01:00

It's been a week now a whole week a full week since I last wrote in this scrapbook this chapbook on first reading Chapman's Homer. It's been a week since I last wrote here. It's been a week indeed since I last wrote a post in this blog indeed.

With howling wolves

2006-10-17T13:15:00.000+01:00

Eighty-eight short prose texts (most of them in English) are all that you can flatter yourself with. At that point, it is no use calling your son Ludwig or Wolfgang, even if your dreams are fluttering in the breeze and dancing with howling wolves.

During the wayzgoose, a sequel

2006-10-16T17:01:00.000+01:00

Did I shag that hag? Oh boy does that bitch itch.

House music (lyrics, i)

2006-10-16T16:42:00.000+01:00

I may myself be mediocre

I may myself be mediocre

I may

Myself

I may myself be mediocre

I shall meet you then at the opera

I shall meet you then at the opera

I may

I shall

I shall meet you then at the opera

ad lib. for twelve minutes (at least)

Meeting the Jackalope, ii

2006-10-16T12:26:00.000+01:00

A jackalope is not a cross between a jackdaw and an antelope (Lord protect us!). Playing the fool I've been called a jackass or an ass or a cunt (which is devious, I have to say, because I'm the cynosure of all donkeyes.)

The truth about Verity

2006-10-16T10:58:00.000+01:00

In 1994 one Polly Platt published a book called French or Foe? and am I a foe (and to whom?). The girl I was friends with in 1995 in Oxford was not called Polly (which is horrendously parroty and tit-for-tatty) but Poppy, a friendly first-name she wore with pride.

Jackanapes meets jackalope, i

2006-10-16T09:21:00.000+01:00

Last night as I was having a nightmare what frightened me was a gigantic jackalope.

Like two peas in a podcast, item #9

2006-10-16T09:18:00.000+01:00

I have this mad idea I would like to record some of the narrative snippets I would like to record some of the posts published in this blog I have this mad idea would it be possible indeed to podcast all that ? (I'm a technical failure.) You're a loony.

Seule sœur, V

2006-10-16T09:13:00.000+01:00

Poppy, who was far from looking like my sister, once wrote to me. She was in Barcelona. Poppy a loner in Barcelona. Wear your poppy with pride, I replied, and we were dancing with the tide.

A regular wayzgoose

2006-10-16T09:10:00.000+01:00

It's been a long time since I was last invited to a wayzgoose, and the printer's wife is a goose. It's been a long time since I was last invited to a soirée, and the publisher's wife's beauty is so passé. No less than one hundred and twenty-seven blinks were exchanged during the wayzgoose.

Seule sœur IV

2006-10-16T08:51:00.000+01:00

While I'm labouring at my Philosophy of Blinks, I am thinking about Verity. Verity Owen she was called and she was one of the most beautiful girls I have ever come across met. Can you come across a girl, oh can you indeed, and what will they say if. Verity is a Victorian name and was a beautiful girl and I wish to Hell is a beautiful girl (or woman).

Seule sœur, III

2006-10-16T08:45:00.000+01:00

Wear your poppy with pride, and she was called Poppy. Wasn't she called Poppy, I thought while poppysmic sounds like raspberries being blown with the wind were heard, and poppysmic sounds were heard. I am dead sure that she was called Poppy and not Verity, and poppysmic sounds are heard whenever I write, as if all this were such a shit, I am dead sure. I am not dead but I'm dead sure that she was called Poppy, and poppysmic sounds were heard. Poppysmic sounds blight with plagues the Marriage hearse, I hear, undeaf to whatever grammar sounds may be heard here. Poppysmic plopslop is all there is to it. Thank tou Jimmy you fill my heart with joy.

The Philosophy of Blinks (vol. 7d)

2006-10-16T08:41:00.000+01:00

Blinks when blank are stares and blinks when bland are like white stars. Blinks when blonde girls are around are lascivious and naughty schoolboys blink when thinking of wanking.

Bromopnea, vol. 7d

2006-10-16T08:16:00.000+01:00

Bromopnea is also called halitosis, and if and when you stink because you've drunk too much beer call that alitosis please.

Blinks, vol. 7c (and bromopnea, if you please)

2006-10-16T08:09:00.000+01:00

Blinks are often exchanged when someone suffering from bromopnea enters a room, and not a whiff of air is to be found in those moments, yes verily indeed. Blinks are often axchanged, I mean by that with no questions asked blinks are like an axe cutting into the flesh of the bromopnea-sufferer's name. Blinks are extranged, and what I mean by that is that bromopnea is just a funny disease and not even a disease. Blinks are extranged, and what I mean by that. Blinks are extranged, and what do I indeed mean by that. Blinks are extranged, and strangers become closer as the bromopnea-sufferer becomes the laughing-stock of all who are gathered there in the room which he slowly not-a-whiff-of-airly enters. Of all and sundry who. Of Ann and Sonny who. Are. Who indeed suffer from bromopnea.

Not oner

2006-10-16T07:02:00.000+01:00

There's no ink in the toner cartridge, and there is no replacement toner cartridge in the fridge. There is no replacement toner cartridge in your office, and there is allegedly no toner cartridge available anywhere on Sundays. Just eat your ice cream and leave us alone.

No blink before midnight

2006-10-15T23:34:00.000+01:00

There's no blink and there are no blinks and there is indeed not one single blink before midnight, yet I'm writing this after midnight and blinking with exhaustion.

noink

2006-10-15T23:33:00.000+01:00

Ther's no ink on that score. Blasted contemporary music, quoth the pig, adding noink groink and brrroink.

Post-scriptum way past midnight

2006-10-15T23:26:00.000+01:00

All this (or at least the last two posts) was /// All these were written on Monday, i.e., after midnight. Edward was the one who told me that a comma was necessary after i.e.. Call him Ed, you nerd. Neither Ted nor Ned, mind you. Ed is what you called him and what you call him and his shortened name is indeed Ed and Ed indeed. Well anyway, the last two posts were written (with midnight behind me in my thoughts as I was writing them) after midnight, and hence not on Sunday. I most certainly don't think that a comma is necessary after hence, but what would Ed come up with on that score? I swear I have no inkling.

Blinks, vol. 8

2006-10-15T23:24:00.000+01:00

Other blinks there were but to hell with them. To hell with my writings I'll fly and then find myself in some cave or chasm or abyss or in some such wordy place. Blinks indeed are hell, and is this Cape Canaveral?

Blinks, vol.7

2006-10-15T23:21:00.000+01:00

Blinks are not drinks, and I know you were not expecting blinks anymore. I mean were you expecting blinks or not. I mean were you expecting Blinks or not? Note that down on your notepad, which, as syntax is not the same as arithmetics, cannot be written down as that down on your pad.

Dans le feu de l'inaction

2006-10-15T21:51:00.000+01:00

Depressing is indeed the idea that nothing I have ever done may well be called a deed, and I mean by that that it might not at all, and with no degree of truth whatsoever, be called a deed, and then I find myself damned to inexistence or inaction, and damned! that's rude, and there's no deed indeed that I'd have done.

Thai semiotics

2006-10-15T21:34:00.000+01:00

Can't understand why but I am haunted by Florence Lespingal's slates. I can't wash myself clean of being haunted. Small talk of semirobotics and boring semiotics... Some talk of other things, you know.

Backcloth

2006-10-14T16:41:00.000+01:00

Bubbles is what I call those and bubbles are what you see (as a backcloth).

Down this pint now, I say

2006-10-14T16:38:00.000+01:00

Down this pint of toadstool juice while I'm watching, I said, and she taunted me very wickedly, saying I was but a mean voyeur (or a damn voyeuristic bastard, I think she put it).

Down the slippery slope

2006-10-14T16:32:00.000+01:00

I'd really like to know what toadstool juice tastes like, but you'll live to regret it. Like egret, like cattle, says I and quoth he. We were wrapped in cloth and we had the same clothes on, pajamas that made us look very much like llamas and night-gowns which made us look like perfect clowns and bonnets without a single bee underneath and slippers that were indeed so slippery that, in a way that is not unlike an ungifted writer's tampering with a sentence until it collapses, we rushed down the stairs in such a hurry that we missed our intended targets (the armchairs (one blue and one yellow)) and were finally found, entangled in our pajamas and gowns and bonnets and slippers, oh yes freezing and dead.

Grammar 'zounds

2006-10-14T16:31:00.000+01:00

Christ, boring indeed are my wounds !

Oh how

2006-10-14T16:15:00.000+01:00

Oh how boring my wounds today and how tiring the wind in the willows tonight. Tonight I feel like going to bed early with a cup of sewty-newt and a glass of toadstool juice. When I sit on the fence, I have no time for sleep. (Dangerous trick, hey.)

Instep at peace

2006-10-14T16:08:00.000+01:00

They follow one and the same pace and they're at peace with each other. Waiter ! There's David Hockney in my soup !

On second thoughts : penultistep

2006-10-14T16:04:00.000+01:00

On second thoughts let us now praise famous women and V. is a famous woman. On second thoughts let us find a room of our own and spend some time blogging and schlogging in this room. In that room (on second thoughts) I will find a double bass with no strings and make it sing. On second thoughts I'll have a bourbon and a glass of Chinon side by side.

Oh what shan't I do and say and write and downplay, on second thoughts !

Waiter, waiter, percolator...

Lastep with applause

2006-10-14T16:00:00.000+01:00

I like Pulcinella with applause and I like this band very much. I like Pulcinella with applause and Hockney is never hackneyed. "Hacked down to basics" I like but no frozen babies for me as they give me the jeebies. I like Pulcinella with applause and the sea is a huge accordion. What the david and what the dickens, I say oh I say I like Pulcinella with applause.

L. and V.

2006-10-14T15:57:00.000+01:00

L. says she does not know grammar and she doesn't know grammar. V. says it sounds to me wrong but I'm no grammarian and she's no grammarian. The librarian is shocked because someone has torn the page from the upper shelf. Tearing a page from a book is already quite bad, but tearing the page from the upper shelf is awfully heinous and wicked.

Bad I write it small but heinous I write down as fairly normal.

Grammar sounds to me

2006-10-14T15:55:00.000+01:00

Grammar sounds to me as something far-fetched and irretrievable. Grammar sounds to me are sounds, and I play the grammar. Don't you play the guitar? Didn't you play the guitar when I first met you? Well, sure I did but now I play the grammar. A horrendously noisy instrument that.

Firstep

2006-10-14T15:53:00.000+01:00

Who's afraid of the big bad V.? Who's afraid of Thomas Pynchon? Who's been pinching coins in my pocket? Is VJ Victory over Japan and why win over Japan?

Skull at dusk with onions, xiii

2006-10-10T17:43:00.000+01:00

John Lee Hooker is stewin' cookin' steamin' hot. Oh is he steamin' hot boy. Oh boy isn't he steaming hot. Bring me chicken with ONIONS... Vanity fair and fair is vain. Call me Mr. Whatisname, the gentleman who would be married with Mrs Thingamagig.

Your skull's feel, xii

2006-10-10T17:41:00.000+01:00

Your skull feels dull. Dull to the tongue and boring. When you're snoring I feel your skull and I never sleep before dusk. I'm elephants'.

This wooden O, xi

2006-10-10T17:37:00.000+01:00

Andrew was there and Anne drew him to her. O Anna's eyes drew him to her.

......

My dear Leo, what can your sign be ? (Neon.)

"Your skill's keel", x

2006-10-10T17:34:00.000+01:00

Your skill's keel seems as slippery as an eel, which here and there you may not feel. Boats like motes and ships like specks are slithering on the waves' crest. Oh how I long for waves of words and long sentences. Spare the word and spoil the mild. Is what I always say, darling.

Motes of dusk, ix

2006-10-10T17:33:00.000+01:00

Motes of dusk unlike moles of dawn are nothing new under the sun.

Motes of dust, viii

2006-10-10T17:27:00.000+01:00

Botty-bashing is the same as frog-licking. Oh you're filthy you filthy bastard. You're so filthy you make me puke. Frog-bashing indeed (why freedom fries in the oven is because you're in Guantanamo).

Shake your booty, vii

2006-10-10T17:23:00.000+01:00

A body likes to be near the bone. Oh how I long for the way of all flesh. Oh how fresh you were in that dress. Oh how fresh you looked in that dress. Wie frech. Wie schön ! A rolling bone gathers no dust.

Sheikh Yerbouti, vi

2006-10-10T17:12:00.000+01:00

Oh how I long for long sentences. Oh how I long for short nights. Oh how I long for tight skirts and John Lee Hooker's voice. How I long for chicken and onions. tell me how long the train's been gone. Oh how I long for amnesia.

Crook and rook again, v

2006-10-10T17:08:00.000+01:00

Rooks and ravens play tricks and their beaks entangled in mavericks are pointed like sticks.

In a brook, iv

2006-10-10T16:45:00.000+01:00

So rock and rollicking is not the same as broaching a topic which you should not have mentioned in the first place. Call that dancing indeed.

Booky rock, iii

2006-10-10T15:17:00.000+01:00

Stealing away with your booty. Stealing watches of sterling quality. Stealing. Walking away stealthily. Filthily. Fill Philly with stolen words. (Philadelphia, that is.) O brother o bother !

Crock the rook, ii

2006-10-10T15:15:00.000+01:00

Five o'clock tea, oh well fine with me. Frog-licking is a toad of a treat and eats up a whale of a time. (Or so says Jonah, yet should we trust him?)

Rock the crook, i

2006-10-10T15:12:00.000+01:00

Rock & rollicking is more hazardous than stroll-and-frolicking (or frog-licking for that matter).

Seule sœur II

2006-10-09T16:43:00.000+01:00

She wouldn't feel so alone, only her only sister is in Barcelona.

Is she alone in Barcelona and is Barcelona for loners ? I ask her sister. I ask is her only sister only in Barcelona for loners or is she there for starters and is she there. Is there Barcelona, and this there may well be Barcelona.

(Didn't we have enough of this with Bangkok and Warsaw? No, we didn't. Panic stations. Underground stations in Barcelona and Warsaw show that we haven't had enough of this there, so this there is Barcelona and there is this Barcelona too.)

So is her soul sister in Barcelona and is my tongue-twister in Warsaw. Well do you know. Well don't I know (now).

Seule sœur à Barcelone

2006-10-09T16:41:00.000+01:00

" Elle est seule, mais seule à un point qu'on ne peut pas imaginer. La seule sœur qu'ellea, elle est où ? Barcelone."

(entendu près du manège, 15 h 19)

now all

2006-10-09T10:20:00.000+01:00

Now love is all I have my back against the wall. Having to face the music is not tantamount to a close shave and since I have been using an electric razor I have never been shaved close any longer. Call that a guillotine mate. There are no power cuts and no walls, now all is all and all in all I have my back against the wall. There are no clean cuts either and now love is all. I do not bleed like mad anymore or is it bleed like mum or mum's the word while you're bleeding. Oh what names do I call saying that love is all ! What name-calling and shop-lifting with guilt white and fat over my skin. Oh what name-calling and what whale-calling indeed now that I bleed and mum's the word and whale-calling has been going on for ages and weeks now that I while away my time. (And waste yours.)

not hinge

2006-10-08T21:50:00.000+01:00

There's nothing wrong with this, and this is nothing wrong. This is nothing wrong and do I wrong a right when I make a mistake. Do I indeed right a wrong when I unmake mistakes ? Are mistakes wrong or am I indeed mistaken ? Indeed my reason cringes and the door slightly, slowly unhinges. Unmaking mistakes is impossible only righting a wrong isn't. Only righting a wrong is possible when contrasted with unmaking mistakes (which isn't). Unhinged door that I see, order some chicken tandoori.

now ork

2006-09-29T18:21:00.000+01:00

Now I work and there's no work. Let's say there's nowork in Newark and no work in New York. There are dewy forks and few arks in a word such as nowork, which is not a word or which is a coined word or a coinage so that now that I work. Now that I work I take on words.

nocorpse

2006-09-29T16:55:00.000+01:00

There is nothing there that works and no one really works here either. There is no body in the room, and nobody is in the room. Nobody in the room implies that the room is empty and if the room is empty what will you do when. When the song stopped you were about to do some work, or to indulge in some activity vaguely resembling work or to pretend that you were working and then the song has stopped (it has indeed stopped and it has stopped indeed) and you had to stop working or to stop pretending that you were working so that eventually there was no body and nobody in the room and that there was no one working and nothing really properly working. You had the feeling that there was no body in the room, and you ended up being a nocorpse.

Once upon a TIME in bANGKOk (vi)

2006-09-28T17:39:00.000+01:00

People who cannot spell mortgage and spell it morgage instead have a blog and instead of just having a blog they have a blog and manage to misspell the title which is certainly spellbinding and spellblinking and stelladrinking and smellybellybuttoning for everyone who cannot spell mortgage or blink and have their own way with so many people.

Trivia

2006-09-28T08:56:00.000+01:00

Trivia are nothing vital and are not vital and are indeed not vital at all.

Blinks, vol. 7

2006-09-28T05:54:00.000+01:00

Blinks are weird when eyes cannot see. The blinks of the blind are spellbinding and I can't spell pearls for swine without thinking of the abridged title of my weblog, i.e., swellfine, and it is indeed very baffling so that blinks can be baffling and puzzling and verily I say blinks are weird when you are stared at by the blank eyes of the blind. Blinks are weird and the weird blinks of blind people are spellbinding. Nothing is well unless the river swells, and nothing clinks unless the teapot blinks.

Tea for two and time for Tom (d)

2006-09-27T18:40:00.000+01:00

So when Tom found out about Bangkok there was nothing more to keep him in Warsaw but the fact that Thai Airlines did not operate in Frédéric Chopin Airport. Tom found out about Bangkok and Tom was not sent away from Warsaw. Warsaw is not what he mainly saw yet Bangkok was indeed loomed large in his thoughts. So did he have tea in Warsaw and was there enough tea in Thailand ? And what will you do when.

Time for Tom (c)

2006-09-27T14:27:00.000+01:00

Once upon a night in Bangkok Tom was feeling in Warsaw. Once upon a night in Warsaw the time had come for Tom to leave Warsaw and fly to Bangkok. As there is no Thai Airlines flight leaving Frederic Chopin airport he was at a loss. Oh deliver me from dental floss.

Warsaw, vol. 1

2006-09-27T14:23:00.000+01:00

When I started writing Words from Warsaw I had never been in Warsaw. Now that I have given up writing Words from Warsaw I still haven't been to Warsaw. But as I am listening to the wonderful music of the Tomasz Stanko Quartet I feel I could be in Warsaw or in any case that I could write that I am living in Warsaw. Such a wonderful word, Warsaw.

Once upon a time has come in Bangkok (v)

2006-09-26T20:47:00.000+01:00

The time has come and Tom has time. Tom indeed has plenty of time and time has come for Tom to have more time now that he is in need of time. The time has come and I have time. I have time a lot of time plenty of time to tell you about Tom but possibly the time has come and the time indeed may have come for me to tell you more about Pluto and not about Tom. Pluto has not come to our meeting but Tom has. Pluto has not attended our meeting yet Tom does. Tom is attending our meeting and Pluto is absent. Pluto is absent and time is up. The meeting has ended and Pluto has not attended and Tom has come and time has come for us to put an end to our meeting. Which Pluto has not attended. Where Tom has been. So the time has come and Tom has time that has come.

Time for Tom (a)

2006-09-26T18:25:00.000+01:00

The time has come and Tom has time.

Wired, part IX

2006-09-26T16:48:00.000+01:00

I am here and this is weird. I am weird and this is it. Here I am and weird it is. Weird and funny mad and weird and what will you. When weird is not spelt wired then it means weird unless you've been fired. If there is such a thing as fire and if there is such a thing as weirdness then weird is not wired and wired is not fired and fire is not a bird on a wire either. If a bird on a wire. If a bird is on a fire. If a bird is on fire and neither can be said to be weird. If and. If only. Oh if only.

Weird (once upon a time in bangkok, iv)

2006-09-26T15:10:00.000+01:00

My colleagues say this is weird and this weird. My friends say this is weird and this is weird. I sometimes say I have no friends and is this weird. I sometimes feel it were better if there were fewer colleagues and this can't be weird. I am some kind of a weirdo and boy ain't that weird. When I'm like a bird on a wire I feel weird. When I feel like a bird on a wire I feel most weird. I feel weirdest of all when I try to fly. When I try to fly everything around me is weird and so weird and indeed weirder and weirder. Weirder and weirder I turn into a weirdo and my colleagues say this is weird. This is a weblog and this is weird. This word begins with a W and a weblog can indeed be weird. I feel so weird and what will you do when.

One-dge

2006-09-26T15:03:00.000+01:00

One cup of coffee at the secrétariat this morning and then one cup of coffee with Olivier at around ten and then one cup of coffee after lunch at the Farfadets and then three mugs of tea that I've been sipping and drinking while working feverishly and feverishly answering a spate of emails equals much too much and far too much coffee and tea not to be on edge.

The Invention of Pluto, Part II

2006-09-26T08:23:00.000+01:00

You can't just call a new character Pluto because Pluto is a dog. Pluto is a planet is a dog is not a planet is a pluto. Damn scientists and astronomers. Don't say that and what will you do when. Don't say and don't you just call this new character of yours Pluto because Pluto is a dog. What I want to do is. What I'd like to do is. What I'd like to do is have people finally forget about Pluto being a dog or a planet or a pluto or a Greek god and what I'd like to achieve is have people only think of Pluto as this new character that I have invented. Pluto is not a dog is not a god is not a planet is not a pluto is a new character that I have invented is a new character's name that I have coined is a new coin jingling in my pocket. Is it a new coin jingling in my pocket or is it not a new coin jingling in my pocket ? Is Pluto a new coin or a new character, and what will you do when.

Blinks, vol. 5c

2006-09-26T08:15:00.000+01:00

Rocks and bricks that look like flesh... Blinks are not brinks or bricks are neither bricks nor brinks so what will you do when. Blinks are not bricks and do not look like flesh. Blinks are not bricks indeed and never look like skin. Skinny blinks are not scary brinks and they do not at all look like flesh, or they do not look like flesh at all. Or do they look like skin or silk, and what will you do when.

En français, vol. 3

2006-09-26T08:11:00.000+01:00

Speaking volumes : je vois des volumes et des volutes et voilures et des voitures ou plutôt j'entends tout cela car tout ce que je vois en fait en effet tout ce que je vois, c'est un coin de la passerelle, avec des jardinières de fleurs lilas dont j'ignore le nom, et qui dégoulinent le long du béton froid et gris de la passerelle (après la virgule).

The Invention of Pluto

2006-09-25T18:50:00.000+01:00

This is nothing new and I say this is nothing new and I am under the sun and saying this is nothing new under the sun. And I say Pluto is not a planet anymore but is a pluto, which sounds silly I know yet is true and rings true. And who rings but Pluto ? Come in, Mr Pluto.

Blinks, vol. 4c

2006-09-25T16:17:00.000+01:00

Blinks are not shards are not the apple of my eye. Blinks are sharks are playing cards. Blinks are not credit cards and are they credit cards indeed ? Blinks are what you have to defend yourself against shrinks. When you shrink is not what I have in mind, and is Alice the matter. When you shrink down to the size of an ant or a midget is not what I have in mind and really does it matter ? What I have in mind is. What I have in mind is the matter, and what I have in mind is what you do when you're facing your shrink. Not what when you shrink. Not that you would think of shrinking when you have an appointment with your shrink. Is that the matter ? Is it indeed the matter and the matter is painful. Is it the matter and is what the matter ? What is the matter, and what the matter is is painful and is at ease and is uneasy when painful and is what you are thinking of facing your shrink. If you go to a shrink and you blink. Blinks are sharks are playing cards and are not credit cards indeed save if Alice also shrinks. Blinks are the apple of my eye save if the sun also rises. Blinks are not what you climb or think of, and isn't it hard to climb a blink ? Indeed it must be very hard to climb a blink. What I meant was the matter, and it is the matter. And the matter is painful and it is the matter.

In waves

2006-09-25T16:00:00.000+01:00

On the bus I had this so wonderful sequence of sentences here. Sitting in the bus I had such a wonderful series of sentences or lines for I think of those strings of beads as if they were verse which they're not. They're not verse and they're verse. They're poetry and they're not poems. They're not poems and they're not poetry. So on the bus I was thinking not aloud just thinking and having these waves of words coming to me in gusts. Windy sea or watery breeze of words. And now they're lost to me. Those words and sentences are lost to me. There is only the geography of loss along those lines and in those pages. In these lines and along the ant-like pages. Or rather pages with myriads of signs that are like ants. Which is what I mean by losing my waves of words siting in the bus.

Blinks, vol. 6

2006-09-25T12:24:00.000+01:00

Truth is pasted on my teeth and time is wasted on the house. Drinks are on the house and that's the truth. Drinks are on the house and is that the truth. Is it true that drinks. Is it true that drinks are on the house? Is it true that truth. I told Ruth. Truth is pasted on my teeth I told Ruth. The teeth I told Ruth about are not wasted or rotten. What I have pasted on my teeth is the truth of life I told Ruth. But drinks stink. Stinking teeth sunk in the sink. A singsong lullaby for Ruth with teeth on edge and truth flung out with a sand wedge. Is it sound to have truth in the sand, I asked Ruth. Is it safe to have ostriches everywhere, I asked Ruth. Oh bother, Ruth does not answer. Ruth does not answer and does she answer. Ruth does not reply and does Ruth indeed reply. And does Ruth in teeth reply. And does Ruth grinding her teeth reply that truth is pasted on the house ? You louse. You lousy ostrich, I insulted Ruth in Austrian which is the same as German. Austrian is not the same as German and is it the same as German, I asked Ruth on the house.

Salad days / Once Upon a Time in Bangkok (iii)

2006-09-25T06:48:00.000+01:00

Cats and dogs are raining on the roof. I can hear their claws and their meows, and meadows are not that green now that rain is not made of water-drops any longer. A long leash is what is indeed needed for those curious pets, but well, you needn't. Slices of cake I am wallowing in slice-of-life literature, and huge slices of cake seen on the screen all bark and no bite so as to swallow the whole of a huge slice of cake. In groundhog days may I have some salad please ?

So Well...

2006-09-25T06:46:00.000+01:00

A swelling fire...

Elves or swine, pearls hidden in the wine.

Hush your mouth

2006-09-25T05:33:00.000+01:00

Hacked down to nothingness is what I wrote yesterday evening. Let sleeping dogs lie I would say, but how can they lie if they bark and cannot speak ? Do they bark because there's a lark in the mirror or a yellow bark on the larch ? Or do sleeping dogs lie when they're on a leash ? Hush. Hush your mouth. Blinks are there, a twinkle in the eye. Let the cat slip out of the bag, the gibbon fall asleep and sleeping dogs lie on the rug and not on a leash. Hush now.

Identikitten

2006-09-24T19:29:00.000+01:00

I've let the cat slip out of the bag. Got my own bag of tricks, mate. No, you shouldn't. No, you needn't. No, I know you wouldn't let that cat slip out of your grasp. Nitty-gritty writer you !

En français, vol. 2

2006-09-24T18:47:00.000+01:00

Difficile. Il pleut à torrents. Torrents de folie, torrents de silence. Il faut tout de même que je m'y résigne. Difficile

Once upon a time in Bangkok (ii) / Blinks, vol. 5a

2006-09-24T18:18:00.000+01:00

Blinks are bangs that have no weathercock. Blinks are churches that still lack followers and chapels where fools rolling away are heard chattering away with foolscap in their pockets and mates and pals and chaps on their lips and friends fine in their eyes and full fathom five in the soil. Blinks are so because closing time has come at The Fox & Bloodhound. Blinks are blinks indeed.

Once Upon a Time in Bangkok (i)

2006-09-24T18:17:00.000+01:00

So when reaping has come to be the same as sowing all the words are back on track and no truth do they lack. Bangkok here and Banjul there.

Blinks, vol. 5

2006-09-24T18:02:00.000+01:00

Blinks are twins seen from the corner of a giraffe's eye. Are they the same as winks ? Are blinks the same as winks. I ask. I ask are blinks the same as winks. I wonder whether. I wonder whether blinks are the same as winks. Or not. Whether blinks are winks. I wonder whether winks can be called blinks. Sometimes or often. Or not. Or not at all. Orson asks are blinks the same as winks. Echoes everywhere because of the weather. Wondering about blinks and winks Werther looks at Orson whom he cannot bear. So that the wear. So that the wear and tear of worldly life is awfully showing on Orson's face. Orson whom Werther cannot bear. And who is asking. Who am I asking. Who ? am I asking. Italics would help. Italics certainly would help. Most certainly italics would help. Who am I asking ? I am asking Orson. I am wondering with Werther. Wondering about winks and blinks whether they are the same. Try again. Wondering about blinks and winks and whether winks are indeed so different from blinks. Trying do I say.

* En français, vol. 2

2006-09-24T17:53:00.000+01:00

Triste est mon âme quand

j'ai meurtri tendrement mon sang.

(Tu vois le genre...)

Singlet

2006-09-24T17:46:00.000+01:00

My Karma has no charm
There's nothing that can harm
my sense of pride

and so they say
My pretty bride has gone away

So no one could ever charm
spirit away my pretty bride

Bilingual ;;; act II

2006-09-24T17:42:00.000+01:00

I said Le gibbon s'endort.

No you write it.

You write it. I wrote it.

You know your acting talents by rote. I'm smitten with your spiteful remarks.

That's nothing but the 'flu !!!

********* OH NO NOT AGAIN ************

Blinks, vol. 4

2006-09-24T17:37:00.000+01:00

Blinks are clinks in the teapot are chinks in the hotspot. Whenever I blink I have blue feathers covering my hair, and birds of a flock are indeed seen as they fly amok. Whenever I blink I put my hammock in the shade of a pear-tree not far from my native hillock. Blinks are winks and minutes go by minutely, so that mammoths are turned into butterflies (the French Minister for Defence unwilling). I lay it on thick. Oh you make me sick, whenever I blink.

Bilingual, vol. 3

2006-09-24T17:34:00.000+01:00

Le gibbon s'endort. I'm crying my lungs off I'm shouting my lungs coarse I'm spitting my lungs out TO TELL YOU THE GIBBON IS FALLING ASLEEP for

monkey's sake !!!

Fake fuckbuddy (Limbs, vol. 2)

2006-09-24T17:29:00.000+01:00

Can't get it. Can't have my cake and eat it. Can't touch the milkwoman's ass either. Can't have my milk and drink it. Can't get to the bottom of the fridge. Call that a rump, mate. Call that a randy mate. Call that a rumpy fate, with humps like a camel and mumps like a weasel. Pop it goes, and pop music is at stake. Can't get it. Can't have my stake and fake it.

Hackers

2006-09-24T17:24:00.000+01:00

Je ne hurle pas comme Mattéo Baraquet. This is where the story of a long-awaited dinner starts. To yield to such powers as be for once is nothing real, or when phrases are cut like limbs, sentences also are hacked down to nothingness. Le néant m'apprivoise. You might think I write in a disorderly way, yet it's often worse in French. I am a weight-lifter who never spends more than ten minutes in shops and indulge in glittering sparkles (are shards) instead of writing gliterring in an unerring way. A red herring I call that, although red tape triumphs.

En français, vol. 1

2006-09-24T17:23:00.000+01:00

Heureusement que nous ne sommes pas dehors, avec ce qui dégringole. Des ânes bâtés passent dans la rue, en français volume 1.

Blinks, vol. 1

2006-09-24T17:18:00.000+01:00

Blinks are shards are scars are bleeding sharks bitten by lightning. Awakening. Awaking to the world surrounding me, I hear the rain clatter on the roof or on my stomach I weep. Weeping like a Virginia creeper under the rain like jetsam and flotsam I write that blinks are shards are scars when sharks find their way through the terrifying teeth of the strom. (And in its eye they are when blinks are scars.)