This entry is more than an entry. Don't get me wrong; it's an entry, no doubt. But it's more than that. It's also an experiment in credulity.

The Ultimate Treatise on Paul Celan

Some people don't talk about Paul Celan. Those that do avert their eyes. They scour the gutter for raven's feathers, caw like jackdaws, loosen the twine around looseleaf journals (those old regimes!) in search of shoeblack recipes. They tramp through black snow to frozen caverns, huddle to catch the flickering remnants of human community, let the last light illuminate their faces as they talk about Paul Celan.

November 4, 2007

That is the day you hand in your ticket and leave the continent. You adopt the appropriate air. On monorail and a thumbs-up from your children you leave the continent. You are suspended by magnets on the monorail. An arch over the ocean. You leave your fillings on the floor.

Boo-yah Fugue! (an invisible cartoon)

"Does anyone say 'Boo-yah' anymore?"
"Boo-yah!"
"Not when prompted, spontaneously".
"Boo-yah!"
"Not when prompted!"
"That one was spontaneous".
"Booyah ex nihilo?"
"Exactly".
"Boo-yah!"
"Which one of us said that?"
"I've lost track, anyway".
"Jack-daw!"
"Does anyone say 'Jackdaw' anymore?"
"Only when prompted".
"Jack-daw".
"Nihil obstat Jackdaw".
"Obstat"?
"Jackdaw"?
"Who's keeping track here"?
"Anyway, one of us said that".

parode - exode