Cognitively polyphiloprogenitive walls of unscalable text; the fog-hidden, far overhead finial of some ancient ruined buttress's stone spire in a ghost city where the humidity sticks; a small boy with a crooked harp playing music to an assemblage of goats; infinitely several Russian dolls, internally solipsistic and inanimate; the causative jutting root of the fall into and out of: where, through, within which, beneath and beyond, some glimmering light fades opalescent in quiescence.
28 July 2014
The Monthly Dozer II (June) 3/3: Dictated Recording* (PPFTF)
17 Jan. C43BCOP†
Walsh L. Scott
Memorial Library, Mindora, IL
(overlooking parking lot through frayed yellow glass window panes)
Really? From what angle [finger quotes] with respect to [end finger quotes] the wastebasket? How far is it we're talking?
I'd say maybe 45 to 55 feet, presenting an arc of 172.79 feet, give or take, from behind the two bike racks and an obstructive crowd of K5s playing futile marbles on the black top's oblique southeast corner, not to mention the 16- by 19-inch space of open window it had to pass through to make it into the lab's steel circular file, the diameter of which file's top's a somewhat daunting 11 inches in the corner nearest the room's subjective exit.
Byron insisted it was a lucky shot; he still insists it was luck.
I once pegged a nun at the Catholic school of my youth with a veritable paper wad myself, once. (sic.)
You attended a Catholic School?
Yes, a Catholic school--not one of these public New-European-Papacy-designated [finger quotes] Learning Centers, [end finger quotes] no.
I'm sure that was hard for you, given your condition.
You mean the crucifxes?
Yes, and--well, and the holy water, too.
The holy water wasn't really holy there. It was more like sterilized bottled water with your consumable disinfectants and what have you--
--Chlorine Dioxide additives and your Magnesium Sulfate and Potassium Chloride and Haloacetic Acids, I'm sure.
Yes, and yes, it was hard.
And but the eyes tend to reposit their tears in hard situations like that for those who are strong enough to affect that kind of reticence.
I cried like a newborn every night in my bunk, I assure you.
It's understandable for a child, even a small male child--
The other boys'd laught at me for crying, and so I'd cry even harder than before and they'd laugh harder and I'd cry harder and harder, et cetera, until I literally passed out from lack of oxygen-intake due to the replete number of tears and the waining amount of breathe between said tears.
Boy, that's pretty pathetic, I'd say.
It's a dog-eat-flower world, T'wall.
If that's meant to be analogous to life, I don't think the dog can be blamed; the flower analogue only serves as a justification for your being treated so poorly. The metaphorical dog's eating you is at its worst a sign of its compulsory savoir-faire for the continuance of some metaphysical "Circle of Life." I think I'd prefer conversing with a less prodigious fourteen-year-old. I think the adjectival modifier you were searching for was "precocious."
* T'wall's dialogue is colored in pale blue; Dr. Epiphantifang's is a pale purple.