Unlabelled Passage Of The Day

Nemonymous

Nemonymous

Grimscribe
You asked me about my assertion that life is a condition, like a terminal illness, for which there is not so much a cure as a protracted but always provisory series of allayments, mere distractions for the brain to keep it occupied and far away from the dangerous questions of human existence. Well, I thought I had made all of that clear before, and so I apologize if I hadn’t. But if you must have it again, I will summarize the more salient points one last time, not because I feel you would understand it any better through a by-rote repeating of the words--indeed, the events in question are such that with each iteration new insights emerge from darkness, things formerly hidden, and what had previously seemed undeniable fact dissolves into a mist of uncertainty--but because I hope to work something out for myself, some new take on the problems that have been bothering me ever since it all began.

You are no doubt aware of the condition of the streets hereabouts in Barstowe; and not just their physical condition--the way they always seem to be covered in a gray soot, with oil and grease lining every brick--but even the way they are laid out, with no discernible center, no easily identifiable direction, busy thoroughfares suddenly petering out, without turning, into shabby half-lit side streets, and seemingly blind alleys alternately giving out onto open highway one moment, and, uncannily, a remote ploughland the next. The maps of our city are hopelessly inaccurate, showing references to places that don’t exist, and vice versa: try to find the terminus of Pinnacle Street and you my friend shall be left wanting! Yes, various intrepid individuals have been brought in from time to time to help figure it all out, but what have they shown us? Half-finished projects, abandoned in frustration, pointing up the fundamentally insoluble nature of the problem. Ho, they’ve even tried to take a picture from outer space! Can you imagine it? A tin box spinning two thousand kilometers above the earth to find something we can’t even see with our own eyes, right here in front of us. Maybe it is not my place to criticize these things, when it is a wonder that such feats are possible at all, right? Well, to this day the mystery remains unsolved; but what if I told you that I once knew a man who had done it, had at last come up with the only accurate and reliable map of Barstowe, our beloved but most amorphously inclined city of improbability?

--- From 'Terminus' by S.D. Tullis - published 'Zencore!' (Nemonymous 7) 2007
 
Ahahaha! the unlabelled passage is a great idea!

I want to give my contribution:

"Then the Heart of Heaven
Blew mist into their eyes,
Which clouded their sight
As when a mirror is breathed upon.
Their eyes were covered and they could see only
What was close, only
That was clear to them".

Popul Vuh
 
There are degrees with being alone with someone. It was not till they had driven down Sandgate hill – not till they were, even, clear of Sandgate itself, on that flat stretch of road above the beach, passing cream-coloured houses with gardens of tamarisks – that she saw what made them completely alone for the first time: there being no sun. Always before, at Twickenham or Boulogne, the sun by happening to shine had been a felt presence, adding itself the whole time. It had been insistent on the flowery pink tree, the salt quay stones. Till today, they had not, when alone, ever been two; always either three or one. [...]
Rain made the day dark for day, but till late the light did not change. Saturday stayed late, reflected on wet roofs and straight wet paths uphill. The west broke, the grey went white, lightening across the rain that did not stop but still veiled darkening houses and trees. At nine they went out and stood on the canal bridge; the band pavilion was empty, the chairs stacked up. Hearing the sea creep up on the far beach, they walked that way, along the Ladies’ Walk. Along this tunnel of trees lights hung quenched under arching branches, rain glittering past, no June moths. On a bench back from the walk another couple of lovers were blotted out, faceless, sheltered by the unfrequented night. On the embanked sea-front a house with a tower stood up; next door, in the lodging-house terrace, someone played a piano, but then stopped. Here the sea air was washed unsalt by the rain; you only smelled tamarisks and wet grass. The sea crept on the shingle with a half-living rustle; on its far-out silence Dungeness lighthouse flashed, stopped, flashed. At the sight of this one light Karen remembers her hand, wet with rain and for some minutes forgotten, tightening on Max’s wet india-rubber sleeve. He made her face inland, where the High Street lights rose steadily through the rain and windows studded the hill where many people would sleep tonight.
From Part 2 (9) of ‘The House In Paris’ 1935 (by Elizabeth Bowen)
 
"'Let me introduce myself, as no one else is likely to do so. My name is Bloodbone.'

His voice was neutral, neither frightening nor comforting. He fanned out a series of photographs in his hand, bearing what seemed to be black and white snapshots of various cuts of gory butcher's rubble. 'Do you recognize any of these?'

'I don't understand, Mr Bloodbone, I'm afraid.'

He withdrew the flickering torch from his face. By his look, I could tell I had failed the test. There was a cruel gash for the mouth where the grey giblet tongue lolled out, an over-nourished ringworm turned inside out by a cancerous infection. The eyes opened directly on to the pulsating brain, which was incubating blackened cultures even as I watched. The nostrils of the bulbnose gaped wider with each of Bloodbone's breaths, revealing a whole system of twitching, fatfolding bogies - a whole scabby township of them - in varying shades of pure white.

He sighed movingly, as I realized he had unravelled my innards like a lecher undressing a comely wench just with his eyes. He had been searching desperately for another of his kind, whose bodily parts were black and white - like in the old B-Movie days.

I fled in tears.

As the lightning's crazy zigzags paved the night sky, I realized that God must be taking photographs."
D. F. Lewis - "Bloodbone"
​
 
I was much struck by this, which I read recently:

Methinks I see her now in her broad-brimmed beaver hat, and an immense shawl, slowly pacing along with her hands behind her, stopping ever and anon to look into a shop window. Like her sister, Bessie, she was extremely fond of snuff and blew her nose with a trumpet-like sound on a vast Indian silk handkerchief, which she carefully arranged before use with a sort of cushion. Another curious trick she had of turning round several times before settling herself into a chair, much like a dog upon a hearth-rug... She was a Tory of Tories. One chief object of her vituperation were the railways. I believe she never trusted herself to this novel mode of locomotion, and constantly declaimed against the wickedness of devoting so much fertile soil to these barren iron roads. She found it hard to forgive my father for allowing my brother Charles to be apprenticed to Stephenson and take part in executing these nefarious works. But she had a kind heart...

Henry Liddell on his Aunt Anna, quoted by Colin Gordon in Beyond the Looking Glass. Reflections of Alice and Her Family.
 
Nemonymous said:
But shouldn't it be 'was the railways' rather than 'were the railways'?
Click to expand...

I thought that too, but quoted it SIC. :confused:

There are, I think several wonderful things in the passage -- including the snuff and Indian silk handkerchief. I also loved the assumption that Tories are opposed to capitalistic change -- would that they were still so! :rolleyes:

(This was my 7th cubed post on this site.)
 
Odalisque said:
(This was my 7th cubed post on this site.)
Click to expand...
Pet, throw in another side and a dimension or two, and you have opened the gateway to the Old Ones. I think you have invented the hyper-hyper-tesseract. I'm sending you a lab coat. Your next assignments (should you choose to accept them): time travel and immortality. ;) and :drunk:
 
People say there's no such thing as a domestic cat, and it's true. Females in particular. Whatever you feed them, they still hunt. When they bring you something they've killed, it's not a gift. It's a lesson. They're trying to train you, like you're a kitten. And when they rub against you, it's not love: they're leaving their scent to mark you as part of their territory.

-- "Scratch" by Joel Lane
 
Cat Passage

"the mockingbird" by Charles Bukowski

the mockingbird had been following the cat
all summer
mocking mocking mocking
teasing and cocksure;
the cat crawled under rockers on porches
tail flashing
and said something angry to the mockingbird
which I didn't understand.

yesterday the cat walked calmly up the driveway
with the mockingbird alive in its mouth,
wings fanned, beautiful wings fanned and flopping,
and the bird was no longer mocking,
it was asking, it was praying
but the cat
striding down through centuries
would not listen.

I saw it crawl under a yellow car
with the bird
to bargain it to another place.

summer was over.
 
Cat Passage

"startled into life like fire" by Charles Bukowski

in grievous deity my cat
walks around
he walks around and around
with
electric tail and
push-button
eyes

he is
alive and
plush and
final as a plum tree

neither of us understands
cathedrals or
the man outside
watering his
lawn

if I were all the man
that he is
cat--
if there were men
like this
the world could
begin

he leaps up on the couch
and walks through
porticoes of my
admiration.
 
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Cat Passage

"For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry (excerpt, Jubilate Agno)" by Christopher Smart

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he's a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually--Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.

 
Cat Passage

"Black Cat" by Rainer Maria Rilke (trans. S. Mitchell)

A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:

just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.

She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once

as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.
 
Cat Passage

"Cats" by Charles Baudelaire (trans. Richard Howard)

Lovers, scholars--the fervent, the austere--
grow equally fond of cats, their household pride.
As sensitive as either to the cold,
as sedentary, though so strong and sleek,

your cat, a friend to learning and to love,
seeks out both silence and the awesome dark...
Hell would have made the cat its courier
could it have controverted feline pride!

Dozing, all cats assume the svelte design
of desert sphinxes sprawled in solitude,
apparently transfixed by endless dreams;

their teeming loins are rich in magic sparks,
and golden flecks like infinitesimal sand
glisten in those enigmatic eyes.
 
Cat Passage

"The Cat" by Charles Baudelaire (trans. Richard Howard)

Come here, kitty--sheathe your claws!
Lie on my loving heart
and let me sink into your eyes
of agate fused with steel.

When my fingers freely caress
your head and supple spine,
and my hand thrills to the touch
of your electric fur,

my mistress comes to mind. Her gaze--
cold and deep as yours,
my pet--is like a stab of pain,

and from head to heels
a subtle scent, a dangerous perfume,
rises from her brown flesh.
 
Cat Passage

"Cat" by Charles Baudelaire (trans. Richard Howard)

As if he owned the place, a cat
meanders through my mind,
sleek and proud, yet so discreet
in making known his will

that I hear music when he mews,
and even when he purrs
a tender timbre in the sound
compels my consciousness--

a secret rhythm penetrates
to unsuspected depths,
obsessive as a line of verse
and potent as a drug:

All woes are spirited away,
I hear ecstatic news--
it seems a telling language has
no need of words at all.

My heart, assenting instrument,
is masterfully played;
no other bow across its strings
can draw such music out

the way this cat's uncanny voice
--seraphic, alien--
can reconcile discordant strains
into close harmony!

One night his brindled fur gave off
a perfume so intense
I seemed to be embalmed because
(just once!) I fondled him...

Familiar spirit, genius, judge,
the cat presides--inspires
events that he appears to spurn,
half goblin and half god!

and when my spellbound eyes at last
relinquish worship of
this cat they love to contemplate
and look inside myself,

I find to my astonishment
like living opals there
his fiery pupils, embers which
observe me fixedly.
 
Cat Passage

The cats were even further removed from light. Their perfection was frightening. Enclosed in the precision and efficiency of their bodies, they did not know either fault or deviation. They would descend for a moment into the depths of their being, then become immobile within their soft fur, solemnly and threateningly serious, while their eyes became round like moons, sucking the visible into their fiery craters. But a moment later, thrown back to the surface, they would yawn away their vacuity, disenchanted and without illusions. In their lives full of self-sufficient grace, there was no place for any alternative. Bored by this prison of perfection, seized with spleen, they spat with their wrinkled lips, while their broad, striped faces expressed an abstract cruelty.

-- "The Age of Genius" by Bruno Schulz (trans. Celina Wieniewska)
 
Thanks for all the cat passages and for having Joyce ('Ulysses', chapter 4) in your signature!

- Mkgnao!

- Mrkgnao! the cat cried.

- Mrkrgnao! the cat said loudly
 
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