tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51797952756642641952024-03-16T01:12:56.533+00:00Sulci Collective“ – the dangerous words, the padlocked words, the words that do not belong to the dictionary,
for if they were written there, written out and not maintained by ellipses,
they would utter too fast the suffocating misery of a solitude …”
Jean Genet
Introduction to “Soledad Brother – The Prison Letters of George Jackson”Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.comBlogger741125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-88288878922665940622024-03-15T15:39:00.000+00:002024-03-15T15:39:29.370+00:00The Names - Friday Flash<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Sanchez (SS), Rodriguez (CF), Palmeiro (DH), Valdez (2B), Guerrero (1B), Reyes (LF), Castillo (3B), Martinez (C), Cruz (RF). The Dominican daily newspaper faithfully reported the baseball box scores. Day after day the players dreamed of a fat contract in the Major Leagues just across the ocean. The numbers against their name would be the key factor to securing that new life. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Morris (x4) 8.15. Carhart (x2) 9pm. O'Shaugnessey (x5) 8.45. <s><span lang="EN-US">Davidovich (x8) 8.30</span></s><span lang="EN-US">. Somers (x2) 9pm. Vickers (x4) 10pm. The Strickland party has just cancelled their reservation. That's eight meals the restaurant is out on, unless we get some walk up custom. Vickers, once a year on their anniversary; if you look back in the book exactly one year, there they'll be. Complementary drinks for them. Put the O'Shaugnessey party on the table for eight. Then we won't look so bereft...</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Francoise Mauriac, Francis Jeansen, Jean-Paul Sartre, Guy Debord, Andre Breton, Marguerite Duras, Andre Masson, Alain Resnais, Simone Signoret, Maurice Blanchot, we the undersigned wish to state our opposition to the present governmental and national policy. We hope that the value and weight of our names on the spines of our books, on the credits of our movies and on the corners of our canvasses will help sway the minds of countless of our countrymen to apply their own names to our petition. Merci et vive la Republique!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Wayne Crawford Perth, Australia. Carla Baldelli, Bari, Richard and Diane Wood, Bath, UK. Angelos Charisteas, Thessaloniki. Radoslaw Murawski & Dariusz Glowacki, Wrocklaw, Polska. We love your holy cathedral, it is very inspiring. But we don't understand why people scratch their names into the wall when we are happy to sign this book of visitors. They spoil its beauty we think. You must take better care of the holy. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">J.Clark 607701, 3 books history. N.Hardiman 644093, 2 books fiction, 1 book literary criticism. V.Stanger 688156, 1 book popular science. G.Oswald 633271, 3 audiobooks. K.Guptil 649757, 2 books renewed cookery /house and garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>L.Simmonds 656920, 5 books, romance (overdue fines paid in full)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Merrick L, Merrill N, Merry D, Merryman K, Merryweather B, Merryweather H, Mervyn P, Line after line, column after column, the ranks slaughtered trying to rush the enemy trenches of the First World War. The men drawn from this modest village into a worldwide conflict. Commemorated on the marble plinth bearing a white obelisk atop. The Church that played host to it now without a congregation as the youth have all long since left the area.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">8.15 Miller B to D. 9.15 Coleman Brow Lift. 11.30 McCallister C to E. 13.30 Kavanagh Tummy Tuck 16.00 Reed Liposuction 17.45 Vincent B to DD. The names on the notes change, but not the hankering to be somebody else. </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-59198437161466750432023-05-12T08:57:00.000+01:002023-05-12T08:57:16.701+01:00The Unreality of Death<p><span style="font-size: medium;">I had long-lived grandparents. And long-lived cats too, one was bought 6 months before my birth and lived to the ripe old age of 23. So I wasn't exposed to death at a premature age. Well, not directly anyway.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Five years before my birth, my parents had a baby girl who died at one month of meningitis. Of course I wasn't witness to this, though its shadow lay over our household, having lit the most slow-burning of fuses of guilt and recrimination that contributed to the eventual dissolution of my parents' marriage. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I can't remember exactly how old I was when I first encountered death from a distance. Our family were on holiday in one of the Spanish island resorts. A speedboat had ploughed towards two swimmers and the propeller had fatally sliced on of them. We saw the aftermath from our hotel balcony, that is to say we didn't really see anything. So my experience was aural really, all the buzz in the air of rubberneckers staring out to sea and a police recovery boat. One of the popular theories was that the pilot had been recumbent and was steering the boat with his feet. I can't even remember if we saw a covered stretcher or not. If we did, it certainly wasn't stained red by blood. Nothing to see here, yes absolutely. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The next occasion was also while on holiday, this time in a city. My parents were friends with a Suffolk County, NY pathologist and he gave us a tour of his workplace, including a small black museum. It was a pretty sanitised tour, I think because 14 year old me was present. However, passing an open door, I did see a man laid out on the slab awaiting autopsy. I wasn't walking right at the boundary of the door, so saw it from mid-distance in the corridor. The man looked plastic, unreal. Maybe it was the muted lighting in the room rather than his death pallor, but it was a death that left no impression on me, because it didn't look like anything corporeally human. No wonder people who come across dead bodies often mistake them first for shop mannequins. I've mused on this in my new novel <a href="https://coronasamizdat.com/index.php?id_product=89&rewrite=the-death-of-the-author-in-triplicate-marc-nash&controller=product" target="_blank">"The Death Of The Author (In Triplicate)"</a> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhelAFRU1XIofJSlHoFTR6_NpfiYdIzyfrCbiyBryM2coIp27BFBG0EBNvTfXrtVHjeoDzu3r-wdUoSDHfRk5dRgA3EDr5ptMWl35b-mSv2jp46Tkj5EbAr8uyGGETMNBHw-ZBD8Pt1uYK8XHGD1yPEcuCRS1Arn_1OYs67zNox6SSwooMBAa9PhZr5/s1600/Mannequin.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhelAFRU1XIofJSlHoFTR6_NpfiYdIzyfrCbiyBryM2coIp27BFBG0EBNvTfXrtVHjeoDzu3r-wdUoSDHfRk5dRgA3EDr5ptMWl35b-mSv2jp46Tkj5EbAr8uyGGETMNBHw-ZBD8Pt1uYK8XHGD1yPEcuCRS1Arn_1OYs67zNox6SSwooMBAa9PhZr5/w640-h360/Mannequin.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I was 19, my father attempted suicide inside the family home. Again I had the unreal sight framed for me by the disposition of doors. He had attempted the act in the kitchen, which was accessed via a laundry room with washing machine and dryer. So I was looking through two sets of door lintels, that of the laundry room and then that of the kitchen. Added to this sense of the filmic, he was wearing an all-white towelling robe. The whole scene was like a black and white art movie. He had tried to open up veins in his neck and his head had fallen backwards, but the blood must have flowed down the from of the robe, because again, the incontrovertible evidence of blood wasn't visible to me from my angle. However, it became all too present when I was the one deputed to clean up the floor after he'd been taken to hospital. Our kitchen lino was patterned with orange hexagons. The blood when it landed was also hexagonal. I marvelled when a blood hexagon fitted entirely within a floor hexagon, like a kid's colouring book that stays within the lines. It was the way of protecting myself from the awfulness of what it all meant. </span><span style="font-size: large;">It was my father's anatomical and medical ignorance that saved his life (plus the speedy response of the emergency services), since he had cut in the wrong, non-fatal location. As speedy as the ambulance crew were, they were beaten to our front door by two plain-clothes detectives who were responding to the 999 call of knife wound, before satisfying themselves it had been self-inflicted. A lot of this made it into my Kindle novel </span><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Not-My-Name-Marc-Nash-ebook/dp/B005J5XCRO/ref=sr_1_2?crid=1QC2IPQID13W0&keywords=marc+nash&qid=1683631441&s=digital-text&sprefix=marc+nash%2Cdigital-text%2C73&sr=1-2" style="font-size: large;" target="_blank">"Not In My Name"</a><span style="font-size: large;">, comparing the mindset of domestic suicide to that of suicide bombers. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And after that, my grandparents and pets did start dropping off their perch. I lost a teenage second cousin who had barely made it into teenagehood. I was in no position to process death beyond grief, which is not the same thing. We have the cognitive load capacity to process either grief or Death (as in our own future one), but not simultaneously. I am now 59 years old. My next book, almost complete, will be a consideration of death, as in my own, or anybody else in the first person, rather than the third person death embodied in the form of grief. There are books a plenty on grief, to go along with out personal experiences. There is no personal experience of one's own death and very little literature about it accordingly, because no one ever gets to come back and write up their notes on the subject. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">We are so protected from confronting death head on. My experiences as above, maybe more down to happenstance, but for example I wasn't allowed into the pathology suite with the dead body, and I was forbidden to go closer to my father in the kitchen. But is it just down to circumstances? One of the question the book considers, </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">is <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">how much of our inability to comprehend death, is an existential (emotional) problem, or a linguistic one? </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Watch this space...</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">In the meantime you can read my latest novel, </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span>"The Death Of The Author (In Triplicate)"<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">available from the publishers <a href="https://coronasamizdat.com/index.php?id_product=89&rewrite=the-death-of-the-author-in-triplicate-marc-nash&controller=product" target="_blank">Corona/Samizdat</a></span></p><p>Blurb: </p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">A trine cycle produced by three authors. A Senior Investigating Officer is on his way to a fresh murder. In his crisis of faith, he questions the material nature of evidence and the abstract judicial system they are put towards as proofs. The somatic dead body signposts a crime scene staged with symbols of the divine interred in one of the four elements constituting the material universe. In part 2, a widow and a literary agent are having a heated phone exchange about the fate of her late husband’s unfinished manuscript. In part 3, an author is taking down all his sticky notes, twine and graph paper for the book he has just completed, as he ponders the next steps and tries to anticipate some of the questions that will be thrown at him. Where does he get his ideas from, a paradox when set against the unremarkable act of sitting down at a desk, sticking notes up on the wall, crossing them out again and lighting up forbidden cigarettes and hiding the evidence from his wife. In showing his mundane w</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14px;">orkings, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;">we are asked to trace the leap into a work of creative imagination. Until his literary future too is threatened.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">For more content on the novel <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2023/02/the-death-of-author-in-triplicate.html" target="_blank">go here</a></span></p><p><br /></p>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-56396498383099469192023-04-20T09:21:00.002+01:002023-04-20T12:28:30.833+01:00When a novel sneakily reveals itself to be inspired by a music album rather than other books...<p> In my previous post, "<a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2023/04/most-novels-are-in-conversation-with.html" target="_blank">Most Novels Are In Conversation With Novels That Have Preceded Them"</a>, I talked about 5 books which either influenced or at least echoed my current novel "The Death Of The Author (In Triplicate)". But it wasn't just literature which influenced my book. The author character in the final part of my novel in increasing despair as he reviews the book he has just finished for a final time, wonders if it's merely a monograph to his favourite album, "Three Imaginary Boys" by The Cure which was released in 1978. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpPPmr1HPwr809bzI7NzFb2Unwi5ksmd9bwf5NOEdkElnv2mcXsTtfm5Tzv7MNNRWwXdI6vbF9WGYfl1_p0SXuFlfkyJLpW_DvVSsslHwpZHgWeGWWIN72ZtYmGEgZmBqkswGuhT-6Rru6QRWQxsK7GbY6Gf7EtkU3e9itphzfZsCigiDX_AZuq7Sg/s500/album-three-imaginary-boys.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="500" height="359" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpPPmr1HPwr809bzI7NzFb2Unwi5ksmd9bwf5NOEdkElnv2mcXsTtfm5Tzv7MNNRWwXdI6vbF9WGYfl1_p0SXuFlfkyJLpW_DvVSsslHwpZHgWeGWWIN72ZtYmGEgZmBqkswGuhT-6Rru6QRWQxsK7GbY6Gf7EtkU3e9itphzfZsCigiDX_AZuq7Sg/w400-h359/album-three-imaginary-boys.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Here are my thoughts on the album.<p></p><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;">Remember the self-proclaimed lo-fi genre of the late 80s early 90s, bands such as Pavement and Sebadoh? Well Robert Smith and The Cure got there a decade earlier with their album "Three Imaginary Boys". </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;">What could be more callow than taking the set text from your recently completed school A-Level French syllabus and turning it into a song “Killing An Arab”? Or there you are stuck in the studio needing to come up with a new track, picking up the Tate And Lyle sugar pack as you’re drinking your cup of tea tea and reading the details on the back of the packet, of how to apply for a free icing tool and then setting that to music? The track was called “So What?”, and it didn't even even omit the exact closing date for applying which has stuck in my mind some 38 years later and is of course, an offer that is now 38 years out of date. Did someone say 'timeless art'? </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;">There’s a cover version of Hendrix’s “Foxy Lady” which is unrecognisable from the original as any good cover should be, principally down to Robert Smith’s deep South (England) drawling vowels. It ought to be pointed out that “Foxy Lady” was just a band soundchecking in the studio and never intended to be part of the album, but the record label put it on much to Smith’s chagrin. He was never to surrender artistic control again, which in light of the Cure’s future 'Goth' output was a pity. Apparently the front cover was not Smith’s choice either, which is amazing as it's </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;">my favourite album cover of all time. Props to whoever designed it.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins; outline: 0px; transition: all 0.3s ease 0s;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins; outline: 0px; transition: all 0.3s ease 0s;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;">The album is offbeat, charming and yes, lo-fi. That’s not to say it doesn’t have some excellent guitar playing, since Smith is a guitar whizz with oodles of reverb and echo, but held in check by a tight rhythm section. Unlike Gang of Four, the Fall or Public Image Limited, this record is readily accessible. It’s non-conformist musically, but it’s not abstruse.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;">But for me ultimately, it’s the strength of its individual tracks. It starts with “10:15 Saturday Night”, which was the B-Side to their debut single “Killing An Arab”. What band open their debut album with a B-side? And then don’t put the A-Side anywhere on the album at all? Then comes my favourite track “Accuracy”, a song about a couple failing to communicate, with the pleasingly lyric delivered almost pleadingly by Smith, ‘Kill you without trying/ That’s ac-cu-racy’. There is edge in some of Smith’s words, such as in the song “Meathook”, ‘He really stole my heart/ Hung me up on a meathook/ A real piece of/ Slaughterhouse Art’. Ugh and that’s an image that has stayed with me I can tell you. And to cap it off, a hidden bonus track in which The Cure sort of play themselves off stage with a coda. If you have never heard this album and are keen on tracking it down, try and get hold of a version that includes their superlative early singles such as “Killing An Arab”, “Boys Don’t Cry” and “Jumping Someone Else’ Train”.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;">How does it feature in my novel? </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins; font-size: large;">In part 1 of the novel, the detective character's favourite music genre is Easy Listening, so that the author character in part 3 who created him, has had to subject himself to an unending play list of Easy Listening standards, from Dionne Warwick to Frank Sinatra. By the time he has completed the book, he is desperate to play his actual favourite songs which he has starved himself of for so long and to clean his palate of asinine Easy Listening. He weighs up which should be the first to celebrate the completion of the novel and is inundated by songs from the Cure album. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins; font-size: large;">Was that the situation I, as the actual author also found myself in, having had to listen to an interminable play list of Easy Listening while writing part 1 of the novel? That would be just be a touch too <a href="https://youtu.be/8SWO0MfMp9I" target="_blank">metafictional</a> wouldn't it? </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: times; font-size: large;">The song "Object" with the inimitable lyric "You're just an object in my eyes" points up the eternal philosophical dilemma between mind and matter, which is central to the detective character in part one of my novel as he goes about a murder scene looking for evidence to unlock the identity and mind of the killer. The title of the song "So What" as described above, forms the final words of the novel as the author is in complete despair about his book and his profession. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFUt-KdmE4kupuYU0YDoQigoCF6aDt2UrGlZ7y2gGcGJdRko6X1weHkm8E2KQKwn_Flv-8BsUq8QAiV0XS4SU_RpJejdj5kpIJghe5muaHzKbcBBvTwJFDNk2pPT-8-LmkJDawBoK8zQOLbu99ddilo7xk83yvdjmgcQN2QFlcPL8_oMX1lcik6v2Y/s1600/The%20Cure.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFUt-KdmE4kupuYU0YDoQigoCF6aDt2UrGlZ7y2gGcGJdRko6X1weHkm8E2KQKwn_Flv-8BsUq8QAiV0XS4SU_RpJejdj5kpIJghe5muaHzKbcBBvTwJFDNk2pPT-8-LmkJDawBoK8zQOLbu99ddilo7xk83yvdjmgcQN2QFlcPL8_oMX1lcik6v2Y/w640-h360/The%20Cure.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;">"The Death Of The Author (In Triplicate)" is <a href="https://coronasamizdat.com/index.php?id_product=89&rewrite=the-death-of-the-author-in-triplicate-marc-nash&controller=product" target="_blank">directly available</a> from the publishers Corona\Samizdat</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins;">For more content on the novel visit </span></span><span style="color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Poppins; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2023/02/the-death-of-author-in-triplicate.html">https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2023/02/the-death-of-author-in-triplicate.html</a></span></div>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-23355370720022221682023-04-14T09:56:00.000+01:002023-04-14T09:56:40.362+01:00Most Novels Are In Conversation With Novels That Have Preceded Them<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaDB-Fh7bQddEE-W1sPWdotB2R3-oNauB6P1MLPQBSyCv7I-6PiSgULzeuKc6161vbnlAMxBmDQWIQUhC6LvCpfj-YCJlm7Gn2nE3j5G-Ne1BzIX_Khi_DNhMfo9kuiQ5liXsPFNK1DS37DZm2Ap3xeqwRHRGkq2M0CX1ehc63_1rhHfNTuexwdyxn/s1600/If%20you%20liked%20this....png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaDB-Fh7bQddEE-W1sPWdotB2R3-oNauB6P1MLPQBSyCv7I-6PiSgULzeuKc6161vbnlAMxBmDQWIQUhC6LvCpfj-YCJlm7Gn2nE3j5G-Ne1BzIX_Khi_DNhMfo9kuiQ5liXsPFNK1DS37DZm2Ap3xeqwRHRGkq2M0CX1ehc63_1rhHfNTuexwdyxn/w640-h360/If%20you%20liked%20this....png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When a musician is interviewed, very often they take the interviewer through their record collection for the music that inspired and influenced them. Authors are less directly forthcoming, since they tend to prefer to save such quoting for the body of their actual works themselves, burying references in the text to see who will spot them and who won't. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The author character in my latest novel "The Death Of The Author (In Triplicate)" is having none of this game playing (though me as the 'invisible' author behind him, could conceivably be up to such metafictional games). He is committed to showing his literary workings, though he is also struggling not to reveal too much behind his work and explain it away completely.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So in the spirit of the author character, I thought I'd share some books that either directly fed into my novel, or at least echoed it in some ways. Some of them I'd read before I sat down to type the first words of my novel, others I read during the novel writing process and one I have yet to read but am aware at least of its (non-fictional) argument. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_B3corOAhDBFh4l5row6G7JYjD29KifoySA9v9u-Q2nwaClVnooCOgmF9XsDhkpRZ43AarD17ZGIAvoQ211mBYcBTHQWz2YrMcPBflTi8duk0rPqVRrjiYxNo0NKM2yZa9No6gkI4lrdEt4nq5P0-wJT6ucy3dmCnEBtcI1U2F5rej3eWmjzKdYwa/s3072/100_0893.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1728" data-original-width="3072" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_B3corOAhDBFh4l5row6G7JYjD29KifoySA9v9u-Q2nwaClVnooCOgmF9XsDhkpRZ43AarD17ZGIAvoQ211mBYcBTHQWz2YrMcPBflTi8duk0rPqVRrjiYxNo0NKM2yZa9No6gkI4lrdEt4nq5P0-wJT6ucy3dmCnEBtcI1U2F5rej3eWmjzKdYwa/w400-h225/100_0893.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A man has suffered so traumatic a brain injury, that he has lost all memory and has to be trained to walk again by his physios. We get a forensic treatment of that process of relearning basic everyday functions we take for granted. Into the void of his memory also comes these mental images he can't place. When he's released back into daily living, he has a sizeable compensation settlement and decides to devote it to recreate these visions inside his head in every tiny detail. From the architecture, to people paid to play the roles of the passersby in the street, doing precisely scripted things and the clothes they wear. Again this focus on a a forensic level of detail, which echoes the murder detective's process in my novel. McCarthy raises an interesting distinction, between a scene in a film which can be shot innumerable times until the Director is satisfied that it's right; versus the one-take of live performance and the protagonist of this novel trying to nail his image exactly in his live recreation. A detective is not dissimilar, in that at the start of an investigation, there are unlimited ways in which the crime unfurled and the task is to narrow that down to just one possible way the action of the event could have taken place. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcT_Hqif8C1D1sEcWRV9YHc3-qut38iW1q7aB89HDyCmo3AxMxleA7art5BZLEFyZKLG3t3poRlhNwOUpMT8soYivDnGr6SExtHYylAVeudE2ijvdjHTX-3U7SmiLvb0QE-Cub_gFOldlQ7yJPzVTwIuNv7hJrWCsQtYGQgCQSPv0zQwM_ccDUySz/s1600/Forensic%20Phenomenology.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcT_Hqif8C1D1sEcWRV9YHc3-qut38iW1q7aB89HDyCmo3AxMxleA7art5BZLEFyZKLG3t3poRlhNwOUpMT8soYivDnGr6SExtHYylAVeudE2ijvdjHTX-3U7SmiLvb0QE-Cub_gFOldlQ7yJPzVTwIuNv7hJrWCsQtYGQgCQSPv0zQwM_ccDUySz/w400-h225/Forensic%20Phenomenology.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjopBhk_ZvOz7BLOBUJJh4E6NYyL_XOD382vW0eiD4e4Gij3GAWRZ9lIBQrswJpidE-mxEGvXQCr6pIV0wBga6dimdgtWazxksCOxjPKiv9VIEtKy2IQAghYtzWnNPsTf0EOgigEEhPBG_GzaXcIk9POfxZcXiFFMEZFI7J9uPud3S6_id4OfxNKHR8/s3072/100_0892.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1728" data-original-width="3072" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjopBhk_ZvOz7BLOBUJJh4E6NYyL_XOD382vW0eiD4e4Gij3GAWRZ9lIBQrswJpidE-mxEGvXQCr6pIV0wBga6dimdgtWazxksCOxjPKiv9VIEtKy2IQAghYtzWnNPsTf0EOgigEEhPBG_GzaXcIk9POfxZcXiFFMEZFI7J9uPud3S6_id4OfxNKHR8/w400-h225/100_0892.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Georges Perec's final novel, as he raced against time to complete it before his life was claimed by cancer. A novel in three parts; the first being a mystery thriller around a disappeared writer in French colonial Africa, using his abandoned manuscript as a clue to his fate. Part 2 turns to an historical event of betrayal among the French Resistance in World War 2, which completely flips Part 1 on its head, as we see that story was a code for this actual incident that was too incendiary to write directly. Part 3 supposedly is the uncompleted part choked off by Perec's death and is presented as the fragmentary source material and documents that informed the story in Part 2. These were curated by two of Perec's writer friends who were members of the same Oulipo movement as him. HOWEVER, the Spanish author Enrique Villa-Matas in his novel "Mac And His Problem" posits that this too is smoke and mirrors on Perec's part; that in fact Part 3 is exactly as Perec intended and that the legend of his friends completing his book deliberately masks this fact. Through such a disguise, Perec was giving the middle finger to Death, because he DID finish his novel before Death claimed him, but veiled that fact, so it was just between him and the Grim Reaper. And Perec won (or at least went to his grave conceiving that he'd won). I also mirrored this tripartite structure, in that my novel moves from a crime thriller Part 1, through into Part 2's fevered argument over the ownership of the unfinished manuscript that was Part 1 between widow and literary agent and into Part 3, centring around the author who is responsible for penning Parts 1 & 2. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdUm3wyAgYrjX_sXUNTwvWTCbRSbtw01JUbqiLGLZu8cgdFdGhr6Ny-RDBP4_H8ayYQG6pa6MQ0k7jZIR5hNwcRNvyIwydQyswceBZFWFSLOAHV9zA47hOtncUN9OAwCE5acaRvlBYhM6q1skqbir6R0kGTHUf_XkRcQ8Qx3R6j-qLAmKMP9VjWSGl/s279/download.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="279" data-original-width="181" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdUm3wyAgYrjX_sXUNTwvWTCbRSbtw01JUbqiLGLZu8cgdFdGhr6Ny-RDBP4_H8ayYQG6pa6MQ0k7jZIR5hNwcRNvyIwydQyswceBZFWFSLOAHV9zA47hOtncUN9OAwCE5acaRvlBYhM6q1skqbir6R0kGTHUf_XkRcQ8Qx3R6j-qLAmKMP9VjWSGl/w259-h400/download.png" width="259" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This is the book I haven't actually read. But my own title clearly pays homage to this and I also touch on the central concept, as my author character muses on how he loses all control of his text once it is out in the world. Readers and critics will remake his text in whatever way they choose to read and interpret it, no matter what his original intentions for the story were. I do have fun with the concept as, per the "In Triplicate" of my book's title, three authors 'die' during the course of the novel, though an author can die, per Barthes, in metaphorical ways as well as in actuality. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGpd7oqg3fXieabVHlbxuMmchV90CUAQd3r46irEULXJN6t-JV_4Cdq4TP3geUGIQ7UFRPeC6gqP4ohCXmvfPcvYPitFTGAzvG9Q-Z3rdDIkN9BCmabtbUOEBtU1AXDpYM7YOtze47z1fBONL43iiKD_kF9352WMTZQlaZMzAbNafI5kqm3Rz5udGC/s1600/Readers%20Critics.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGpd7oqg3fXieabVHlbxuMmchV90CUAQd3r46irEULXJN6t-JV_4Cdq4TP3geUGIQ7UFRPeC6gqP4ohCXmvfPcvYPitFTGAzvG9Q-Z3rdDIkN9BCmabtbUOEBtU1AXDpYM7YOtze47z1fBONL43iiKD_kF9352WMTZQlaZMzAbNafI5kqm3Rz5udGC/w400-h225/Readers%20Critics.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6efOFTyW1irqBBhL-xA6koaQNWci_yMazT0Yk5g4PynU_6Ij4vKsVcNHd6sNoEAMjExyUXRPzQmhgsnV1-xmFZ_GnMF05NoPlXcImtXrLNWqc6lx07MGO5QJ2cnEeWbqDPiQ_Rf2l-E99TIdJc7JsYxvQkP7l1nS6yL053EBNdN30IgTePUbyt0kQ/s1600/Popgun.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6efOFTyW1irqBBhL-xA6koaQNWci_yMazT0Yk5g4PynU_6Ij4vKsVcNHd6sNoEAMjExyUXRPzQmhgsnV1-xmFZ_GnMF05NoPlXcImtXrLNWqc6lx07MGO5QJ2cnEeWbqDPiQ_Rf2l-E99TIdJc7JsYxvQkP7l1nS6yL053EBNdN30IgTePUbyt0kQ/s320/Popgun.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWONlFUxTnu0fCdYWkINhOTlod6xRISq_GLhPYp3GWBL5g6gwVja9E6YJIFHg5Fd-yFwEqDNia8IY9lA88NCTtXMhVRDOyRWrBFVmi9SI9AgAMsw2ydob7MUQFDT-5wP9rdBXdwBU35cu1drxIUonKST3TvWSwpSb27TnVWfFomgKNEdMykrAGghf/s3072/100_0891.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1728" data-original-width="3072" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWONlFUxTnu0fCdYWkINhOTlod6xRISq_GLhPYp3GWBL5g6gwVja9E6YJIFHg5Fd-yFwEqDNia8IY9lA88NCTtXMhVRDOyRWrBFVmi9SI9AgAMsw2ydob7MUQFDT-5wP9rdBXdwBU35cu1drxIUonKST3TvWSwpSb27TnVWfFomgKNEdMykrAGghf/w400-h225/100_0891.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The first remarkable thing about this novel from 1937s, is that it was written by a 19-year old German refugee and yet encapsulates eve of war London and its nascent film industry so expertly and authentically. In a second language to boot! A movie actress is murdered, two different men confess to the crime. A film editor called Cameron McCabe, the nom de plume of the real author, is co-opted by the investigating detective and by two-thirds of the way through the book, we get a successful court prosecution of the murderer having unravelled the labyrinthine truth from all these false confessions and a murderer existing in plain sight. But it's a post-modernist epilogue that turns the novel on its head, in the form of a literary interrogation of the character Cameron McCabe from the first part of the book, which takes the opportunity to discuss the present (1930s) state of detective fiction. It uses real critics' words, only inserting Cameron McCabe for the names of the other crime thriller writers, so that it appears to be critics discussing this book "The Face On the Cutting Room Floor" in the book "The Face On The Cutting Room Floor". In this way, the book was called 'the detective novel to end all detective novels' at the time. I loved how it inserted itself into predicting it's own literary criticism and my author character does similar. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDR70y0hPAocwashTRAs5M1Y4Hfz0x6uJrW291HVd2AYvhMtmEy1C4XOiFE0dOKpwubnpiLF2pkHpxtfgNOASjl3pRjZKekcb8idx1qidWErdC5AfZyTU6P4kX6Uy9LIUx55rDyatIYAgvtdWpd4y-w50BfVdPn-yCYo8-HLGHlExv6azpddja51Ay/s3072/Okotie.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1728" data-original-width="3072" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDR70y0hPAocwashTRAs5M1Y4Hfz0x6uJrW291HVd2AYvhMtmEy1C4XOiFE0dOKpwubnpiLF2pkHpxtfgNOASjl3pRjZKekcb8idx1qidWErdC5AfZyTU6P4kX6Uy9LIUx55rDyatIYAgvtdWpd4y-w50BfVdPn-yCYo8-HLGHlExv6azpddja51Ay/w400-h225/Okotie.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So for my final book choice, it's one I didn't particularly enjoy as a reading experience. It's another book about a forensic description of the details of which the human eye sees in a city, as a detective is on the top deck of the bus as he follows the wife of a missing person he's ordered to get on the trail of. It's almost mathematical in its precision of describing people and objects interacting with one another, but ultimately one I found a little cold and dry emotionally. I much preferred the early works of Nicholson Baker, such as "The Mezzanine" and "Room Temperature", where he too looks at everyday objects and describes them and their taken-for-granted interior workings in minute detail, but there is greater warmth and humour than with Okotie I feel. Why is this forensic level of detail significant to me and my novel? Because there are presumptions about the material world which entirely lead and shape our thinking about it and the objects contained within, that detectives and forensic scientists have to get to the bottom of as the fundamental part of their work. Yet what happens if the investigative detective queries the very nature of matter and criminal evidence and refuses to accept those presumptions in the first place? </span></p><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-R8T5JpQUWWRwvdr1Vx06AS0AdIjH7IwvuERju0p6EG-5UIeP_r3EbRqqnoWKomq0jv5nQxulabo9squFN0zWf29p6S60Hm_SuyzckKFVaYrHzp6nICCMA73d90gOn6KwRA04IAw6R7zOXUZ3eszhYD0js7WhDJkCpaNvN4nRNoLl7UTS9qJLpUp2/s1600/Mannequin.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-R8T5JpQUWWRwvdr1Vx06AS0AdIjH7IwvuERju0p6EG-5UIeP_r3EbRqqnoWKomq0jv5nQxulabo9squFN0zWf29p6S60Hm_SuyzckKFVaYrHzp6nICCMA73d90gOn6KwRA04IAw6R7zOXUZ3eszhYD0js7WhDJkCpaNvN4nRNoLl7UTS9qJLpUp2/w400-h225/Mannequin.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"The Death Of The Author (In Triplicate)" is available <a href="https://coronasamizdat.com/index.php?id_product=89&rewrite=the-death-of-the-author-in-triplicate-marc-nash&controller=product" target="_blank">direct from the publisher</a> Corona\Samizdat.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">For <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2023/02/the-death-of-author-in-triplicate.html" target="_blank">more content on the book</a>, including thematic discussions and quote cards.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-88784271149440935662023-03-29T11:29:00.000+01:002023-03-29T11:29:22.363+01:00Crime Scene Reconstruction, Literary Scene Deconstruction<p> When a murderer stages a crime scene, they are doing it for one of two reasons:</p><p><br /></p><p>1) They may simply be trying to throw off the police from the evidence trail, such as stripping the victim's clothes to suggest a sexual component of the crime when no such act occurred</p><p><br /></p><p>2) They are setting the police a puzzle to solve, over and above the identity of who killed the victim.</p><p><br /></p><p>There is a further possible scenario, that the killer's psychological predilections are strong enough to demand the scene is arranged to fit with their fantasy that likely to drove them to murder in the first place, such a posing the deceased in a humiliating manner, as an expression of the killer's sense of superiority, or wish to mark the victim as 'deserving' of degradation beyond taking their life. </p><p><br /></p><p>A dead body is processed for clues as to the cause of death. Corporeality speaking to materiality, as science brings its analytical tools to bear. Evidence at the scene can be anything from bullet fragments, blood spatter, discarded cigarettes through to DNA traces and transferred fibres or plant material. All derive from the world of the material. However, in a staged scene, the realm of the symbolic is also engaged. The symbolic is not analysable by the same hard and fast facts as material evidence yielded by science. Rather, they are very much accessed through interpretation.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8XzgrFmv76eFT9waazP14wSS94pQTW4HNHe1-BnDThvpebb8noYHSAJlbd25oZziHCm-5UfV0RRVgFyJlX1FFbs--AUo583Nh89IIihuq_BRtj6r64FXsefCtUlg56NdK5vYGgLNjoENKGPsD2CzikXNHJHiDIJZ5D3Em9wgusm2ekJu4B7GutIR6/s540/Evidence%20Bag%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="540" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8XzgrFmv76eFT9waazP14wSS94pQTW4HNHe1-BnDThvpebb8noYHSAJlbd25oZziHCm-5UfV0RRVgFyJlX1FFbs--AUo583Nh89IIihuq_BRtj6r64FXsefCtUlg56NdK5vYGgLNjoENKGPsD2CzikXNHJHiDIJZ5D3Em9wgusm2ekJu4B7GutIR6/s320/Evidence%20Bag%202.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>In my latest novel, "The Death Of The Author (In Triplicate)", there is a staged murder scene which is littered with deliberate symbols set up by the killer. To solve his or her identity, the detectives must first unravel the meaning of the field of symbols. Within the four elements of the material world, as constituted by the ancients all the way through to alchemists, that is fire (ashes), earth (garden soil), water (a jacuzzi) and air (a greenhouse), are discovered statues of gods and idols from every human mythology. Each divine is interred in their appropriate element. Gods of thunder, wind and cyclones are found in the greenhouse. Fertility and harvest gods in the potting shed's mound of soil. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOAkTU7wOhOnAtmxc7_Mos6TSf7yTXzIFF7d6_Kq3U6llY_wNHFD8DbEwWbChD8muiUMJAn-zkfgvMYaVdB8CJhrLJrY4bICvZ25RKbj7-oQkdT4ynR1aLnmr9onwScTrwRsnSahAAcGgVUjomUtNTLK2OxhZEauyCC-UVLnGych3OZQ30qGrINXyR/s1600/Original.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOAkTU7wOhOnAtmxc7_Mos6TSf7yTXzIFF7d6_Kq3U6llY_wNHFD8DbEwWbChD8muiUMJAn-zkfgvMYaVdB8CJhrLJrY4bICvZ25RKbj7-oQkdT4ynR1aLnmr9onwScTrwRsnSahAAcGgVUjomUtNTLK2OxhZEauyCC-UVLnGych3OZQ30qGrINXyR/w640-h360/Original.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The latest scientific forensic techniques are being asked to go up hard against ancient belief and the precursor of science in the form of alchemy. Of course alchemy's primary search for the philosopher's stone, which would supposedly turn base metal into gold, was a fool's errand and yet many of the processes and equipment employed, such as boiling admixtures in glass retorts, led the way to many discoveries that helped usher in the modern world and modern chemistry. Many of the statues uncovered no longer have adherents and believers, rather humbly now just existing as exhibits in a museum. What is the murderer trying to say with this symbology? They believe themself much smarter than the forces of law and order, hence the setting out of the challenge of a puzzle. And yet they also want that cleverness, that self-perceived genius, to be acknowledged. </p><p><br /></p><p>In many ways, <span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">a<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 16px;">ll fiction is a form of detective fiction. What is a novel if not a series of clues? A code to be cracked. The author carefully layers their work with whatever it is they want the reader to uncover and take away from their book. If it is made too obvious, the book is likely to be a poor read. If too oblique and difficult to discover, then the author's intentions go largely unfulfilled. In this way, the author shares a facet with the murderer above; they want their cleverness acknowledged. For the murderer it might be a boast or a public taunting of the police that brings about their downfall, as it gives away who they are and how to find them. For the author, it is talking about their book in interviews, struggling between the poles of revealing their art. as against not giving too much away. </span></span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPf2pox2H-bscF-SHWlBWma0onOItPlnd_wfcVqTX5y3VN0aQpx9rC1NJXm9Z87F5kq9NmkYQZT3dH22Qu4Ar4J23wVIZcWuAKFBB7BLNfIQ6iTKMXqrdkPH4uG-AgUv2fOK-EBuTkPROitwvMLcU7BS5eJIFu99fi8j7obmtkmkqOg5aXdDkW48aE/s1600/Readers%20Critics.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPf2pox2H-bscF-SHWlBWma0onOItPlnd_wfcVqTX5y3VN0aQpx9rC1NJXm9Z87F5kq9NmkYQZT3dH22Qu4Ar4J23wVIZcWuAKFBB7BLNfIQ6iTKMXqrdkPH4uG-AgUv2fOK-EBuTkPROitwvMLcU7BS5eJIFu99fi8j7obmtkmkqOg5aXdDkW48aE/w640-h360/Readers%20Critics.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“The Death Of The Author (In Triplicate)”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> is a</span>vailable <a href="https://coronasamizdat.com/index.php?id_product=89&rewrite=the-death-of-the-author-in-triplicate-marc-nash&controller=product" target="_blank">direct from the publisher</a> Corona\Samizdat <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p></div><br /><p><br /></p>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-78079719161321578802023-03-13T12:29:00.002+00:002023-03-13T12:29:26.937+00:00Children of Immigrants who are hostile to today's migrants is a betrayal of their own roots<p><span style="font-size: large;">I have never taken a daily newspaper. I have always felt I don't require to be steered and editorialised according to any newspaper's owner's political agenda, be it Left or Right, in order to receive my news. I have always still managed to keep up with the news, as it osmoses through the air (not the digital ether). You just pick it up through being receptive to the chatter in everyday life and yes, of course, that may well have already been influenced by politicised news outlets, but it is emerging from a much wider spread of sources. I supplement this vox pop, by watching the Sky News Paper review most nights and yes I'm not unaware of both ironies; that I am, after all, imbibing newspaper content, since that is the subject of the show and that also, this is Sky News, a company formerly owned by that paragon of political neutrality Rupert Murdoch. Busted, I have no defence on either charge. Still, could be worse, I could pick my news up from Facebook. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The above is just for full disclosure, since none of it is really relevant to what I want to go on and discuss. There are two regular reviewers on the Sky show, Jake Wallis Simons and Ali Miraj, who are both white hot on the issue of preventing the boats full of migrants crossing the Channel. Both are themselves from immigrant backgrounds, Simons, a Jew who is the editor of the "Jewish Chronicle"; Miraj's parents were from Pakistan and he writes for "The Article", dedicated to non-political partisanship, presumably through the melange of every contributor representing their own Party allegiance, coalescing some sort of supposed balance. I simply don't see how any child of immigrants can seek to slam the door shut on migrants who wish to follow in their footsteps and seek a better life. It seems to me to be the ultimate <i>chutzpah</i> (audacity), of wanting to pull up the ladder, after you yourself have used it to escape to freedom. Less 'there but for the grace of god go I' and more 'I'm alright Jack'.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Miraj has spoken and written of the barriers he faced in politics, as a prospective Conservative Party MP candidate of Muslim origin. Simons must be aware, of how historically many countries slammed the door closed on Jewish refugees who had either been formally expelled from other countries, or chased out by pogroms? The British could not keep a lid on illegal Jewish immigration into Palestine in the aftermath of the War, which partly informed their decision to allow for the creation of a Jewish state. So for both these men to nail their colours to the mast of the Conservative government's proposed policies to prevent migration, appears to me as utter hypocrisy, or else short-term memory loss (or denial). And don't be fooled by one of the arguments they proffer, that it's only illegal immigration they are targeting; Britain has pulled up the drawbridge to legal immigration, by not providing navigable legal and safe pathways. Just ask the Afghans left high and dry to the Taliban and the Ukrainians who were notionally offered immediate refuge, but stymied by a lack of funding for the scheme and bureaucratic impediments so Kafkaesque, that one might ask if it was deliberately constituted thus. The government are prepared to put half a billion pounds in the breast pocket of the French to prevent the boats sailing from their ports, rather than invest in processing claims of existing migrants to unblock the logjam and leave them rotting in the UK unable to work and earn a living. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The other main argument employed by these two and their ilk, is that migrants need saving from themselves, from putting their trust and their lives in the hands of people smugglers. No, they are saving themselves from wars and climate-caused famine and drought, that is the root cause forcing many to leave their homelands for refuge. Both war and famine that richer countries have had a large hand in causing, such as the proxy war between old Cold war foes in Syria, the disaster zone of Afghanistan that first Russia, then the US and the UK have roused into bringing the Taliban to the fore, driven simply by resisting foreign presence on their soil. Migrants from countries such as these, need protection not from themselves, but from countries like the UK, Russia and the US. You might remark on 'oh the irony' that we are the very countries they seek refuge in, but this is not representative; most migrants relocate to countries neighbouring their homelands, because they want to be able to go back home. Very few migrants travel across the continent of Europe, but those are the scapegoats that such inhumane migration policies focus on. Yemen has been embroiled in a civil war which is a proxy campaign for regional supremacy between Iran and Saudi Arabia. Their need for asylum is perhaps more than most, yet just 0.012% of the population have successfully relocated away from the country. You never hear about the plight of the Yemenis, probably because of other powers' vested interests in us not hearing about it. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The final argument employed, is that under international treaties, migrants are supposed to claim asylum in the country they first land up in after fleeing their homeland. Therefore they shouldn't be crossing the continent of Europe (see above) to seek to settle in the UK. The problem should really be that of those first host countries. Firstly, the flaw in this is that it would be a handful of countries which are the funnel points for fleeing migrants, such as Italy, Poland, Spain and the Western Balkans, who have to single-handedly shoulder the burden. Britain would only really be on route for anyone fleeing Ireland and yes, that would still be by boat in all likelihood, but of course this isn't an issue. Irish citizens have more rights to settle in the UK than just about any other nation on earth. If, as argued, the problem lies with these first host countries, Britain should take it up with them rather than persecute the migrants crossing the channel. Punching up rather than down. Oh but wait, our European neighbours hardly feel compelled to assist us in this, since we washed our hands of them by taken our leave with Brexit. Brexit was partly predicated upon 'solving immigration', (remember the scare stories of hundreds of thousands of Romanians, Bulgarians and Turks once Turkey gained EU membership, who would be flocking to the UK)? But of course, it has only inflated the problem by isolating us from the seat of power where this could be resolved collectively. You really don't recover, (if it was ever lost in the first place), sovereignty by going into isolation, unless you're North Korea and even then you need famine relief every so often to come from outside. Even a superpower like the US had its interests threatened enough to enter the Second World War despite its endemic streak of isolationism. The UK inevitably is operating within the global nexus whether it cares to acknowledge this or not. The same global nexus that forces people out of their homelands, in part due to our behaviour on the global stage. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But the issue isn't even about the migrants in the Channel. That they are scapegoats, is made abundantly clear by the Home Secretary admitting that the legislation she is proposing to get passed into law, may very well not comply with international treaties. The Conservatives don't care if they get the laws passed or not, they are just rabble rousing and blowing dog whistles, to try and reverse a deleterious electoral position. It is highly cynical and playing with the lives of people who have suffered enough to make them leave their homes and leave almost everything behind in the first place. Led by a Home Secretary of immigrant descent and an Immigration Minister who is himself Jewish. Like me, he might never have been born had the UK not opened its doors to take in Jewish migrants. And for the editor of "The Jewish Chronicle" to advocate so hard to stop migrants crossing the Channel is, I think, completely objectionable. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">*. *. *. *. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I wrote this experimental fiction story on the Jewish migratory experience a while ago, long before I'd heard of Jake Wallis Simons, but I really think he needs to be reminded of the recent history of his and my ancestors. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wandering Jew 2.0</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b></b><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b></b><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">A)</span></b></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I am exiled from my home and an alien in any country I find myself. Consequently I can relate this story in several languages, none of them my own vernacular. Tongue-tied, therefore only a scream, which is fundamentally beyond language, can properly communicate my being. Yet there would be none concerned to hear it. After all, daily there are a host of cries just beyond anyone’s window. So my voice is expulsed; banished; evicted; (d-)ejected; deported. I am the inverted mandrake. When you uproot me from the earth, I screech, but only succeed in perforating my own ear drums. The mandrake is not my mythology anyway. How could it be, when I have no loam to call my own from which to be uprooted?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jestem wygnany z mojego domu i cudzoziemca w każdym kraju się znajduję. W związku z tym mogę odnosić się tę historię w kilku językach, żaden z nich moim języku ojczystym. Onieśmielony, więc tylko krzyk, który jest całkowicie poza językiem, może prawidłowo komunikować się moje samopoczucie. Jednak nie byłoby żadnego dotyczy to słyszeć. Po tym wszystkim, codzienne istnieje wiele krzyków tuż poza czyjąkolwiek okna. Więc mój głos jest wydalony; wygnany; eksmisji; (przygnębiony); deportowany. Jestem odwrócony mandragory. Kiedy wyrwać mnie z ziemi, to pisk, ale sukces tylko w perforowanie moje bębenki. Mandragory nie moja mitologia tak. Jak to może być, gdy nie mam gliny zadzwonić do mojego własnego, z którego mają być wykorzenione?</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Я был изгнан из моего дома, и иностранец в любой стране, чтобы найти. Поэтому, я не могу относиться к этой истории на нескольких языках, ни один из них на моем родном языке. Запугивают, так что я просто плачу, которая полностью за пределами языка, он может правильно общаться мое благополучие. Тем не менее, не было бы никакого беспокойства услышать. В конце концов, каждый день есть много криков только вне чьих окон. Так что мой голос исключен; сослан; выселения; (Депрессии); депортированы. Я отменил мандрагоры. Когда вырвать меня из-под земли, этого визга, но только преуспеть в перфорационных мои барабанные перепонки. Mandrake не моя мифология так. Как это может быть, когда у меня нет полицейских назвать своим собственным, которые должны быть уничтожены?</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">גורשתי מביתי, ואת הזר בכל מדינה כדי למצוא. לכן, אני לא יכול להתייחס לסיפור הזה בכמה שפות, אף אחד מהם בשפה שלי. מאיים, אז אני פשוט אשלם, וזה לחלוטין מעבר לשפה, זה יכול כראוי לתקשר לאושרי. עם זאת, לא תהיה שום בעיה לשמוע. אחרי הכל, כל יום יש הרבה צעקות ממש מחוץ לחלון של אחד. אז הקול שלי נשלל; גולה; פינויים; (דיכאון); גורש. ביטלתי את הדודאים. כאשר אני שולף מתחת לאדמה, חריקה זה, אבל רק להצליח ניקוב עור התוף שלי. מנדרייק היא לא המיתולוגיה שלי לא בסדר. איך זה יכול להיות, כאשר אין לי משטרה להתקשר משלהם, אשר חייב להיהרס?</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was expelled from my home, and the foreigner in any country to find. Therefore, I can not relate to this story in several languages, none of them in my own language. Threatening, so I just pay, and that's completely over the edge, it can properly communicate happiness. However, there would be no problem to hear. After all, every day there is a lot of screaming right outside the window of one. So my vote is denied; exile; Evictions; (depression); Deported. I cancelled the mandrake. When I pull out from under the ground, this screech, but only succeed in my eardrum perforation. Mandrake is not my mythology wrong. How can this be, when the police do not have their own call, which must be destroyed?</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="text-decoration-line: underline;"><span style="font-size: medium;">B)</span></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For the rootless to have any possibility of re-mooring, you have to revisit, re-establish, or reinvent your own founding myth. And replant it the new soil upon which you wash up from over the oceans. It was my great-grandfather who brought us to this land, long before I was able to have any say in the matter. Seeing as he died well before I was conceived, either as a notion or a cluster of cells, so I could not lodge any objections to his radical extraction. Our estate is self-weeding. Nonetheless family lore conferred upon him the status of a hero, for managing to preserve the ancestral line in the face of scything pogroms. For bestowing upon us the peripatetic peregrine state of Wandering Jews. Living up (or down) to the archetype of a well established fictional figure. “Le Juif errant” in French, the language of romance. In my current tongue of contingency, that also translates to ‘The Jew In Error’, or ‘The Erroneous Jew’. Cursed certainly, without even the cursory compensation of eternal life. Unless you count the perdurable racial slur embedded in the concept. One hears the word ‘nomad’ and instantly visions of flocks of goats and sheep are evoked. Not for the Jews though. We were nomads moving from city sprawl to city sprawl; flocking; herds; droves; packs; litters. We never owned livestock, worked the fat of the land. Not for us bodies shaped by our timeless landscapes, sculpted by mountains, hewn from forests, moulded by water courses, for we never stayed anywhere for long. Always ready to leave at the drop of a hat, in a religion that demanded the constant covering of the head in the ever presence of god. And just when the Jews thought they were safely settled, the harvests would fail, a pestilence would descend, or the flood waters would overwhelm the dykes and they would be regarded as teeming; a swarm; an infestation; a plague; a bane, a blight and a blot. We became the herds and flocks ripe for a purgative cull. Is it any wonder that the credo places such accent on the rituals of animal slaughter and blood? There but for the grace of god plus carefully observed dietary obligations go us.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Для Бескорним иметь любую возможность перешвартовке, вы должны пересмотреть, заново установить, или изобрести свой собственный миф об образовании. И пересаживать ему новую почву, на которой вы вымыть из над океанами. Это был мой прадед, который привел нас к этой земле, задолго до того, я был в состоянии иметь право голоса в этом вопросе. Видя, как он умер задолго до того, я был задуман, либо как понятие или скопление клеток, так что я не мог подать никаких возражений против его радикальной экстракции. Наша недвижимость само-прополка. Тем не менее семья Лоре присвоил ему статус героя, для управления, чтобы сохранить родовую линию в лице косить погромов. Для даровав нам перипатетическая сапсан состояние Агасфер. Жизнь вверх (или вниз) к архетипу хорошо организованной вымышленной фигурой. "Le Juif странствующих" на французском языке, язык романтики. В моем текущем языке непредвиденных обстоятельств, что также переводится как "еврей по ошибке» или «ошибочном еврея». Проклят, конечно, даже без беглого компенсации вечной жизни. Если не считать расовой пятно вечный вкладывается в понятие. Один слышит слово «кочевник» и мгновенно видения стада коз и овец пробуждаются. Не для евреев, хотя. Мы были кочевниками, переходя от города разрастания до города разрастания; стекаются; табуны; табуны; пакеты; пометы. Мы никогда не владели скотом, работал тук земли. Не для нас тела фасонные нашими вечными ландшафтов, скульптурные гор, высеченные из лесов, отлитые на водотоки, потому что мы никогда не оставались где-нибудь долго. Всегда готов выйти на ровном месте, в религии, которая требовала постоянного покрытия головы в истории присутствия бога. И только тогда, когда евреи думали, что они были благополучно урегулированы, урожаи потерпит неудачу, чума спустится, или паводковых вод будет заваливать дамб, и они будут рассматриваться как изобилуют; рой; инвазии; чума; отрава, фитофтороз и пятно. Мы стали стада и отары созрела для слабительного отбраковки. Стоит ли удивляться тому, что жизненное кредо ставит такой акцент на ритуалы убоя животных и крови? Там, но для изящества бога плюс тщательно соблюдать диетические обязательства идут к нам.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dla bez korzeni mają żadnej możliwości ponownego cumowania, należy rozważyć, ponownie zainstalować lub wymyślić swój własny mit założycielski. A on przeszczepiony nowy grunt, na którym umyć się nad oceanami. To był mój pradziadek, który doprowadził nas do tej ziemi, na długo zanim udało mi się mieć coś do powiedzenia w tej rozwalać się. Widząc, jak umarł na długo zanim został pomyślany, jako koncepcji lub skupiska komórek, tak że nie mogę przedstawić żadnych zastrzeżeń co do jego radykalnej ekstrakcji. Nasza nieruchomość jest self-pielenie. Niemniej, rodzina Laury dało mu status bohatera, do kontroli, aby utrzymać linię rodową w obliczu masakry posiec. Dla dając nam objazdowy stan wędrowny Aswerus. Życie w górę (lub w dół) do archetypu dobrze zorganizowanej fikcyjnej postaci. "Le Juif błędny" po francusku, język romansu. W moim obecnym języku nieprzewidzianych okoliczności, co również przekłada się jako "Żyda przez pomyłkę" lub "złym Żydem." Przeklęty jest, oczywiście, nawet bez pobieżnego kompensacji życia wiecznego. Poza rasowej wiecznego plama osadzonego w koncepcji. Jeden słyszy słowo "nomadów" oraz natychmiast widząc stada kóz i owiec są wywołane nie dla Żydów, mimo że byliśmy koczownicy, przenosząc się z bezładnej zabudowy miejskiej do rozrastania się miast; .. stada, trzody, stada, opakowania, mioty, nigdy posiadane bydło, pracował tłuszczu z ziemi nie jest dla organizmu z nas. kształtuje nasze wieczne krajobraz, rzeźbione góry, rzeźbione z lasu, formowane na drogach wodnych, ponieważ nigdy nie nocowałem nigdzie długo. Zawsze gotowe do drogi stąd, ni zowąd, w religii, która wymagała stałej nakrycia głowy w historii obecności boga. tylko wtedy gdy Żydzi myśleli, że bezpiecznie osiadł, plony zawiodą, zaraza opada lub rozlewiska będzie przerastają wałów przeciwpowodziowych, a zostaną one uznane za obfite, rój; inwazje; plaga; Bane, nęka i plam. Zaczęliśmy stada i stado jest gotowy do odrzucenia przeczyszczający. Czy można się dziwić, że credo kładzie taki nacisk na rytualnego uboju zwierząt i krew? Nie, ale za łaską Bożą, a także dokładnie przestrzegać bóstwo obowiązki przychodzą do nas.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">כי בלי שורשים שום אפשרות מחדש העגינה, כדאי לשקול להתקין מחדש או לבוא עם מיתוס ייסודה משלך. והוא מושתל קרקע חדשה שעליה לשטוף על פני האוקיינוסים. זה היה הסבא שלי, שהביא לנו את הארץ הזאת, הרבה לפני שהייתי מסוגלת יש לומר להשתרע זה. כשראיתי איך הוא מת הרבה לפני שהוא נולד, כמושג, או אשכולות של תאים, כך שאני לא יכול לספק שום התנגדויות החילוץ הרדיקלי. הרכוש שלנו הוא-לנכש עצמי. אף על פי כן, המשפחה של לורה נתנה לו מעמד גיבור, לשלוט, לשמור על השושלת לנוכח קוצצי הטבח. על שנתן לנו מדינה נודדת של נדודים אחשוורוש. חיים למעלה (או למטה) כדי האבטיפוס של דמות בדיונית מאורגנת היטב. "Le Juif תועה" בצרפתית, שפת רומנטיקה. בשפה הנוכחית שלי של נסיבות בלתי צפויות, אשר גם מתרגמת כמו "יהודי בטעות" או "יהודי רע." ארור, כמובן, בלי אפילו חיי נצח פיצוי שטחי. מלבד הכתם נצחי גזעי מוטבע המושג. אתה שומע את המילה "נווד" ומיד לראות את עדר עזים וכבשים נובעים לא ליהודים, אף על פי שהיינו נוודים, נע פרבור להשתרע עירוניים; .. להקות, עדרים, עדרים, אריזה, המלטות, לא בבעלות הבקר, עיבדו את חלב הארץ כי זה לא בגלל הגוף מאיתנו. הוא מעצב את הנוף הנצחי שלנו, הרים מגולפים, שגולף של היער, נוצר על נתיבי מים, כי אני אף פעם לא נשארתי הרבה זמן במקום אחד. תמיד מוכן ללכת כרעם ביום בהיר, בדת, אשר נדרש כיסוי ראש קבוע בהיסטוריה של נוכחותו של אלוהים. רק כאשר היהודים חשבו שהוא היה מיושב בבטחה, גידולים להיכשל, מגיפה נופלת או שיטפון יהיה להציף את כל הסכרים, והם ייחשבו בשפע, נחיל; פלישות; מגפה; ביין, שידפון ואת הכתם. התחלנו את העדר ואת הצאן מוכן לדחות משלשל. הייפלא כי האני מאמין שמה את הדגש על שחיטה ודם הטקס? לא, אבל בחסד אלוהים, אנא קראו בעיון את אלוהות חובות לבוא אלינו.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That without roots no way to re-docking, you should consider reinstalling or come up with your own founding myth. He implanted a new land on which to wash across the oceans. It was my grandfather, who brought us this land, long before I was able to have a say in this stretch. When I saw how he died long before he was born, as a concept, or clusters of cells, so I can not provide any radical objections to the rescue. Our property is self-weeding. Nevertheless, the family of Laura gave him hero status, control, maintain dynasty in view of cutters massacre. Giving us a wandering wandering Ahasuerus. Live up (or down) to the archetype of a fictional character very well organised. "Le Juif errant" in French, the language of romance. My current language of unforeseen circumstances, which also translates as "Jews mistake" or "bad Jews." Damn, of course, without even immortality compensation areas. Besides the eternal stain embedded racial concept. You hear the word "nomad" and immediately see the herd of goats and sheep are due not to the Jews, even though we were nomads, moving urban sprawl urban sprawl; Flocks, herds, flocks, packaging, litters, not owned cattle, dairy farmed the land that it's not because the body away. It shapes our eternal landscape, mountains carved, carved out of the forest, created waterways, that I never stay long in one place. Always willing to go out of the blue, religion, which required regular headdress history of God's presence. Just as the Jews thought he was safely settled, crops fail, fall or flood epidemic will overwhelm the levees, are considered abundant, swarm; Invasions; epidemic; Wine, blight and stain. We started the herd and the flock would reject a laxative. Is it any wonder that I believe puts the emphasis on ritual slaughter and blood? No, but by the grace of God, please read carefully the deity debt to come to us.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">C)</span></b></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I dug up and into the founding myth. Ferreted out the truth about my great-grandfather. It took a bit of spadework, tricky since Jews tend not to own spades since they have no soil to turn, but we are nothing if not persistent and tenacious. We wear one another down in a way we’re careful to avoid doing with our grudging gentile hosts. Through the family’s oral history, a source of contention and counter-claims delivered through hails of ejected food morsels over sundry dinner tables, I elicited certain revisions to the original version. Great-grandfather deserted both the Imperial Russian and Polish armies, when both institutions were actually still in existence. Pacifism the family called it. Cowardice pronounced those in charge of the hosts of his ex-hosts. Sanity he would have claimed I’m sure, practical man that he was. Neither of the rival goyish belligerents were above lancing the boil of the Jews, since they couldn’t be trusted as to their allegiance and besides, when all was said and done, one thing for sure was that they were definitely not Catholic or Orthodox. And so, rather than standing still and having the land underneath his feet change hands, he girded up his loins and gathered up his fruit and actively changed landlords of his own accord. He managed to scramble aboard a steamer and washed up on the South Coast of England crediting it to be America. One might say he’d been sold a pig in a poke, but such an idiom could never apply to Jews. Since he had never even seen the ocean before, how was he supposed to adjudge the duration of an Atlantic crossing? Moreover, since this landlubber spent the entire voyage being violently seasick, what sense of time could he have possessed by which to judge the length of passage anyway? Wretched retching kept him in an interminable convulsive present, unaware of the vessel crossing time zones, of the earth spinning around the sun. Time had become centred in his navel.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Я откопал и в основополагающем мифе. Выведал правду о прадеду. Потребовалось немного подготовительным, каверзный, поскольку евреи, как правило, не владеют лопаты, так как у них нет почвы, чтобы повернуть, но мы ничего, если не стойкими и живучими. Мы носим друг друга вниз так, как мы будем осторожны, чтобы не делать с нашими сдержанным родовыми хозяев. Через устной истории семьи, источником разногласий и встречных претензий подается через окрики выброшенных продуктов питания кусочках над отправки различные обеденных столов, я вызвал определенные изменения к первоначальному варианту. Прадед дезертировал как императорский русских и польских армий, когда оба учреждения были на самом деле все еще существуют. Пацифизм семья называли. Трусость произносятся те, кто отвечает хозяев своих бывших хозяев. Здравомыслие он бы утверждал, я уверен, что практичный человек, что он был. Ни один из конкурирующих нееврей воюющих были выше надреза кипеть евреев, так как они не могли доверять, как к их верности и к тому же, когда все было сказано и сделано, одно точно, что они были определенно не католик или православный. И вот, вместо того, чтобы стоять на месте и имея землю под ноги из рук в руки, он опоясал чресла свои и собрал свой плод и активно изменили помещикам по собственному желанию. Ему удалось взобраться на борт парохода и выбросило на южном побережье Англии кредитования это будет Америка. Можно было бы сказать, что он был продан кота в мешке, но такая идиома никогда не могут относиться к евреям. Так как он никогда даже не видел океан до того, как он должен был вынести решение продолжительность атлантического перехода? Кроме того, так как этот сухопутный провел весь рейс насильственно укачало, какое чувство времени он мог обладал, по которым в любом случае судить о длине прохода? Несчастный отрыжка держали его в нескончаемый судорожного настоящее время не знают о часовых поясах пересечения сосуда, земной вращаясь вокруг Солнца. Время стал центром в своем пупке.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">חפרתי ומיתוס יסוד. אני מגלה את האמת על הסבא-רבא. זה לקח קצת הכנה, מסובך, משום שהיהודים נוטים לא להחזיק את חפירה, כי אין להם קרקע לפנות, אבל אנחנו כלום אם לא מתמידים ועקשנים מאין כמותו. אנחנו לובשים לזה למטה כפי שעוד להיזהר שלא לעשות עם המארחים הגנרית המרוסנים שלנו. לאחר ההיסטוריה משפחתית אוראלית, מקור למחלוקת ותביעות נגד נמאס מבעד לצעקות של חתיכות מזון מושלכות על שולחנות אוכל ומשונים, שגרמתי כמה שינויים לגרסה המקורית. סבא רבא נטוש כמו הצבאות הרוסים ופולנים הקיסריים, כאשר שני המוסדות היו למעשה עדיין קיימות. הפציפיזם המשפחה נקרא. הפחדנות השמיעה אותם בעלי האחראי של אדוניהם הקודמים. שפיות, הוא יטען, אני בטוח כי אדם מעשי שהוא. אף אחד הלוחמים מתחרים הגוי נחתכו רתיחה גבוהה של היהודים, שכן הם לא ניתן לסמוך בדבר נאמנותם וחוץ מזה, כאשר כל שנאמר ונעשה, דבר אחד בטוח, כי הם לבטח לא היו קתולים או אורתודוקסי. ועכשיו, במקום של עמידה במקום שיש את הקרקע מתחת לרגליהם של הידיים, הוא חגור עד חלציו, ואסף הפרי שלו באופן פעיל שינה את בעלי הקרקעות בכוחות עצמם. הוא הצליח לטפס על סיפון הספינה שנשטף אל החוף הדרומי של הלוואות אנגליות זה אמריקה. אפשר לומר שהוא מכר חתול בשק, אך ביטוי זה לא יכול להתייחס ליהודים. מאז הוא מעולם לא ראה אפילו את האוקיינוס לפני שהוא היה צריך להחליט את משך הזמן של המעבר של האוקיינוס האטלנטי? בנוסף, מאז הארץ הזאת ביליתי את הטיסה כולה מחלת ים באלימות, תחושה של זמן שאולי יש לו, שממילא לשפוט את אורכו של הקטע? גיהוק אומלל החזיקו אותו עוויתי תמידי אינו מודע כלי אזורי זמן חציית כדור הארץ מסתובב סביב השמש. זמן הפך למרכז של הטבור שלה.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I wykopali i mit fundamentem. I odkryć prawdę o jego pradziadka. Zajęło pewne przygotowania jest skomplikowana, ponieważ Żydzi nie wydają się trzymać łopatę, ponieważ nie mają one kontakt z podłożem, ale jesteśmy niczym jeśli nie trwałe i bardzo uparta. Nosimy się nawzajem, jak będziemy uważać, aby nie zrobić rodzajowe Hmrosnim z naszych gospodarzy. Po doustnym historii rodzinnej, źródłem kontrowersji i roszczenia wobec zmęczony wykrzykując kawałków wyrzucić jedzenie na stole i bez wyjątku, zrobiłem kilka zmian do pierwotnej wersji. Dziadek porzucone jako rosyjskich i polskich wojsk cesarskich, gdy obie instytucje były w rzeczywistości nadal istnieją. Rodzina nazywa pacyfizm. Tchórzostwo się ich odpowiedzialnymi właścicielami swoich dawnych mistrzów. Niepoczytalność, mógłby argumentować, jestem pewien, że jest człowiekiem praktycznym. Żaden z bojowników konkurują nie żydowska wysokowrzący cięcie Żydów, ponieważ nie mogą one polegać na lojalności, a poza tym, kiedy wszystko jest powiedziane i zrobione, jedno jest pewne, że nie były one zdecydowanie katolików czy prawosławny. Teraz, zamiast stoi, że grunt pod nogami ręce, on przepasał swe biodra, a jego owoce zbierane aktywnie zmienił samych ziemian. Udało mu się wspiąć na pokład statku wyrzuciło na południe Anglii dla kredytów Ameryka. Można powiedzieć, że sprzedawał kota w worku, ale to wyrażenie nie może odnosić się do Żydów. Ponieważ nigdy nie widział oceanu zanim miał zdecydować trwania przeprawy przez Atlantyk? Ponadto, ponieważ kraj ten spędził cały lot gwałtownie. Cierpiący na morską chorobę, poczucie czasu mógł, w każdym przypadku, aby ocenić długość przejścia? Odbijanie nieszczęśliwy stałą drgawkowe trzymała go nieświadomi statków przekraczających stref czasowych Ziemia krąży wokół Słońca. Czas stał się centrum jej pępka.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I dug and the myth of the foundation. I discover the truth about his great-grandfather. It took some preparation is complicated, because the Jews do not seem to hold a shovel, because they do not have contact with the ground, but we are nothing if not persistent and very stubborn. We wear each other, how we will be careful not to make a generic homonym of our hosts. After oral family history, a source of controversy and claims against a tired yelling throw pieces of food on the table and, without exception, I made a few changes to the original version. Grandfather abandoned as Russian and Polish imperial army when both institutions were in fact still exist. The family called pacifism. Cowardice their responsible owners of their former masters. Insanity, he could argue, I am sure that he is a practical man. None of the fighters competing not Jewish high boiling cut of the Jews, because they can not rely on loyalty, and besides, when all is said and done, one thing is certain, that they were by far the Catholics and the Orthodox. Now, instead of facing the ground under the feet of his hands, and he girded up his loins, and its fruits harvested actively changed the landowners themselves. He managed to climb on board the ship washed up south of England loans America. You could say that selling a pig in a poke, but this expression can not refer to the Jews. Since I had never seen the ocean before he had to decide duration of the crossing of the Atlantic? In addition, because the country spent the entire flight violently seasick, sense of time can, in any case, to assess the length of the transition? Bounce unhappy constant seizures kept him unaware of ships crossing time zones, the earth revolves around the sun. Time has become the center of her navel.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">D)</span></b></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And so (lo) he quickly moved from being trilingual to quadrilingual. Assimilating a fourth tongue. Forked with quaternate tines when even a snake only has the two and the devil’s trident three. See we’re inherently good with languages us Jews. Through necessity. For we are the world’s great travellers by circumstance, dealing and trading and negotiating our way as we go, because we have nothing of substance to wrangle and bring to market. We pick up the local dialects, which means we have no mother tongue of our own. For on our mother’s knees we were bounced and rocked to the rhythms of several different languages in preparation. Like the gangster who possesses manifold passports in multifarious nationalities, anticipating his flight from the authorities. We are just the same though without any official papers, counterfeit or otherwise. We are armed only with a plurality of languages and quick divulgement diction. Yet our chameleon vocabularies fail to disguise us as natives, since in our cultural myopia we cling to our homburg hats and sable shtreimels even in hot summers. Like certain tribeswomen in Africa who carry unsupported ewers on their heads, Jews in flight bear their wealth under their hats or even in them, both the lithe mind that can navigate and negotiate their way to a new life in a different country and the diamonds that help lubricate the path. Further indelible markers are our poor eyesight, pallid complexions (from late night rabbinical study) and pig-tailed (!) sidelocks. Not a very efficient adaptation for survival. Why do I keep saying us? None of that schmutter constitutes my raiment. Schmutter has now imprinted itself into the English argot. Chalk one up to the Jews. For prior to the 1948 Jewish State there was no natal spiel, so what did they do? They invented one. Borrowing heavily from German and Slavic vulgates, they forged a creole. A miscegenation. A private patter of their own so they could maintain a few secrets at least from their hosts. Just like the gypsies, homosexuals and convicts. All those who accompanied them into the gas chambers. But even in their newly forged Yiddish language, Jews committed the same mistake all over again. They imposed the ancient biblical script upon it for transcription. The homburg and shtreimel blockishness of the Hebraic characters undermines the cuckoo burrowing in among the German and Slavic words. They can’t hide their Jewishness (though others vigorously try and eradicate it for them). It runs through them like a stick of English seaside rock. Which is odd, because Englishness doesn’t run through the English in the same way. Jews stick out like a hitchhiker’s sore thumb. When English politesse requires only the little finger to stick out and away from the handle when imbibing tea in a bone china cup. I notice that today’s second generation immigrants are those who most enthusiastically wear the replica kits of their adopted nation. The three lions, red rose and St George’s Cross (a Crusader Cross with all the collateral damage that ensued for Jews) branded across their hearts to gainsay the pigmentation of their skin. It wouldn’t have worked for the Jews back in the day, since the badge would have overlaid the putative yellow star that bleeds through from below.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">און אַזוי (לא) ער געשווינד באווויגן פון ווייל טרילינגואַל צו קוואַדרילינגואַל. אַססימילאַטינג 1/4 צונג. פאָרקעד מיט קוואַטערנאַטע טינעס ווען אַפֿילו אַ שלאַנג בלויז האט די צוויי און די דעוויל 'ס טרידענט דרייַ. זען מיר ניטאָ ינכיראַנטלי גוט מיט שפּראַכן אונדז אידן. דורך נייטיקייַט. פֿאַר מיר זענען די וועלט 'ס גרויס טראַוואַלערז דורך ומשטאַנד, דילינג און טריידינג און ניגאָושיייטינג אונדזער וועג ווי מיר גיין, ווייַל מיר האָבן גאָרנישט פון מאַטעריע צו ווראַנגלע און ברענגען צו מאַרק. מיר קלייַבן זיך די היגע דייאַלעקץ, וואָס מיטל מיר האָבן קיין מוטער צונג פון אונדזער אייגן. פֿאַר אויף אונדזער מוטער ס ניז מיר זענען באַונסט און ראַקט צו די רידאַמז פון עטלעכע פאַרשידענע שפּראַכן אין צוגרייטונג. ווי די באַנדיט וואס פּאָססעססעס מאַניפאָלד פּאַספּאָרץ אין מולטיפאַריאָוס נאַשאַנאַליטיז, אַנטיסאַפּייטינג זייַן פלי פון די אויטאריטעטן. מיר זענען נאָר די זעלבע כאָטש אָן קיין באַאַמטער צייטונגען, פאַלש אָדער אַנדערש. מיר זענען אַרמד בלויז מיט אַ פּלוראַליטעט פון שפּראַכן און שנעל דיווולגעמענט דיקשאַן. אבער אונדזער כאַמעלעאָן וואָקאַבולאַריעס פאַרלאָזן צו פאַרשטעלונג אונדז ווי נייטיווז, זינט אין אונדזער קולטור מייאָופּיאַ מיר קלינג צו אונדזער Homburg האַץ און סויבל שטרעימעלס אַפֿילו אין הייס סאַמערז. ווי זיכער טריבעסוואָמען אין Africa וואס פירן אַנסאַפּאָרטיד עווערס אויף זייערע קעפּ, יידן אין פלי טראָגן זייער עשירות אונטער זייער האַץ אָדער אַפֿילו אין זיי, ביידע די ליטהע גייַסט אַז קענען נאַוויגירן און פאַרהאַנדלען זייער וועג צו אַ נייַ לעבן אין אַ אַנדערש מדינה און די דיימאַנדז אַז העלפן שמירן דעם דרך. ווייַטער ינדעליבאַל מאַרקערס זענען אונדזער נעבעך ריע, בלאַס קאָמפּלעקסיאָנס (פון שפּעט נאַכט ראבינער לערנען) און חזיר-טיילד (!) סידעלאָקקס. ניט אַ זייער עפעקטיוו אַדאַפּטיישאַן פֿאַר ניצל. וואָס טאָן איך האַלטן געזאגט אונדז? קיינער פון וואָס סטשמוטטער קאַנסטאַטוץ מיין מלבושים. סטשמוטטער האט איצט ימפּרינטיד זיך אין די ענגליש אַרגאָט. טשאַק איינער זיך צו די אידן. פֿאַר פריערדיק צו די 1948 אידישע מדינה עס איז ניט נאַטאַל ספּיל, אַזוי וואָס האט זיי טאָן? זיי ינווענטיד איינער. באָרראָווינג שווער פֿון דייַטש און סלאווישע ווולגאַטעס, זיי פאָרגעד אַ קרעאָלע. א מיססעגענאַטיאָן. א פּריוואַט פּאַטטער פון זייער אייגן אַזוי זיי קען טייַנען אַ ביסל סיקריץ לפּחות פֿון זייער מחנות. פּונקט ווי די גיפּסיעס, כאָומאָוסעקשאַוואַלז און קאַנוויקץ. אַלע יענע וואס באגלייט זיי אין די גאַז טשיימבערז. אבער אַפֿילו אין זייער ניי פאָרגעד ייִדיש שפּראַך, אידן באגאנגען די זעלבע גרייַז אַלע איבער ווידער. זיי ימפּאָוזד די אלטע ביבלישע שריפט אויף עס פֿאַר טראַנסקריפּציע. די Homburg און שטרעימעל בלאָקקישנעסס די Hebraic אותיות אַנדערמיינז די קוקו בורראָווינג אין צווישן די דייַטש און סלאווישע ווערטער. זיי קענען ניט באַהאַלטן זייער דזשעווישנעסס (כאָטש אנדערע וויגעראַסלי פּרובירן און יראַדאַקייט עס פֿאַר זיי). עס ראַנז דורך זיי ווי אַ שטעקן פון ענגליש סיסייד שטיין. וואָס איז מאָדנע, ווייַל ענגלישנעסס טוט נישט לויפן דורך די ענגליש אין די זעלבע וועג. אידן שטעקן אויס ווי אַ היטטשהיקער ס ווייטיקדיק גראָבער פינגער. ווען ענגליש פּאָליטעססע ריקווייערז בלויז די ביסל פינגער צו שטעקן אויס און אַוועק פון די שעפּן ווען ימביבינג טיי אין אַ ביין טשיינאַ גלעזל. איך באַמערקן אַז הייַנט ס רגע דור ימאַגראַנץ זענען די וואס רובֿ ענטהוסיאַסטיקאַללי טראָגן די רעפּליקע קיץ פון זייער אנגענומען לאַנד. די דרייַ ליאָנס, רויט רויז און סט דזשארזש ס קראָס (אַ קרוסאַדער קראָס מיט אַלע די קאַלאַטעראַל שעדיקן אַז ינסוד יידן) בראַנדיד אַריבער זייער הערצער צו גאַינסייַ די פּיגמאַנטיישאַן פון זייער הויט. עס וואָלט ניט האָבן געארבעט פֿאַר די אידן צוריק אין דעם טאָג, זינט די אָפּצייכן וואָלט האָבן איבערגעצויגן דעם פּוטאַטיווע געל שטערן אַז בלידז דורך פון אונטן.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">И так (LO) Он быстро превратился из трехъязычное в kvadrilingual. Ассимилируя 1/4 языка. Сформированный с kvaternate шинами, когда даже змеи было только два и Дьявола трезубец три. Смотрите, что мы по своей природе хорошо с языками нас евреях. По необходимости. Ибо мы велики в мире путешествия обстоятельствами, дело и торговля и переговоры наш путь, как мы идем, потому что у нас нет ничего существенного, чтобы пререкаться и принес на рынок. Мы собираем местные диалекты, а это значит, у нас нет никакой родной язык наших собственных. Ибо в колене нашей матери, мы подпрыгнули и качались на ритмы нескольких различных языков в подготовке. В качестве бандита, который обладает многообразные паспортов в многообразных национальностей, предвидя свой полет со стороны властей. Мы так же, хотя и без каких-либо официальных документов, ложной или иным образом. Мы вооружены только с множеством языков и быстро разглашение дикции. Но наши хамелеоны словарях не замаскировать нас как туземцев, так как в нашей культурной близорукости мы цепляемся за наши Homburg шляп и соболь штраймл даже в жаркое лето. Насколько безопасна племена-женщины в Африке, которые несут неподдерживаемый когда-либо на их головы, евреи в полете носить свое богатство под шляпы или даже в них, как ум гибкий, которые могут перемещаться и вести переговоры свой путь к новой жизни в другой стране и алмазы, которые поможет смазать путь. Следующие несмываемые маркеры наше плохое зрение, бледный цвет лица (поздней ночи раввинский обучение) и косичкой (!) пейсы. Не очень эффективная адаптация для выживания. Что я продолжаю говорить с нами? Ни один из этой stshmutter не представляет мои одежды. Stshmutter теперь запечатлен в английском арго. Mел один иудеям. Для до 1948 иудейской стране нет натальной злоключениях, так что они делали? Они изобрели один. Заимствование в большой степени из германских и славянских общеупотребительный, они подделали креольском. Pасовое кровосмешение. Частный Поттер свои собственные, так что они могут поддерживать несколько секретов меньше своих хозяев. Так же, как цыгане, гомосексуалисты и осужденных. Все те, кто сопровождал их в газовые камеры. Но даже в их недавно кованого языка идиш, жиды совершили ту же ошибку снова и снова. Они наложили древний библейский сценарий на нем для транскрипции. Хомбург и штраймл тупой письма древнееврейские подрывает кукушку роющие между немецкими и славянскими словами. Они не могут скрыть свою еврейство (хотя другие энергично пытаться искоренить это для них). Она проходит через них, как палка английского приморского рока. Что странно, потому что Английскость не проходит через англичан таким же образом. Евреи торчат как воспаленный большого пальца автостопом в. Когда английский политес требует только мизинец торчать и от рукоятки при впитывая чай в фарфоровую чашку кость. Я замечаю, что сегодняшние иммигранты второго поколения являются те, кто большинство с энтузиазмом носить реплики комплектов принявшей их страны. Три льва, красная роза и крест (Крест крестоносцев со всеми сопутствующий ущерб, развернувшихся евреи) Георгиевский заклеймили через их сердца, чтобы опровергать пигментацию кожи. Он не работал бы на евреях обратно в тот же день, так как значок должен был бы убедить предполагаемую желтую звезду, которая проступает снизу.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">וכך (LO) היא התפתחה במהירות מתוך שלטה במידה שווה kvadrilingual. הטמעת 1/4 שפה. נוצר עם צמיגי kvaternate, גם כאשר הנחש היה רק שניים ושלוש של קלשון השטן. ראה שאנחנו טובים מטבעם עם שפות שאנחנו יהודים. הכרחי. לקבלה יש לנו נסיבות גדולות בעולם של נסיעות, עסקים ומסחר ולנהל משא ומתן דרכנו כמו שאנחנו הולכים, כי אין לנו שום דבר משמעותי להתווכח והבאנו לשוק. אנו אוספים ניבים מקומיים, כלומר אין לנו שפה האם משלנו. עבור השבט אמן, אנחנו קפצנו התנודדנו למקצבי מספר השפות שונות בהכנה. כמו השודד, שיש לו דרכונים מרובים באומות רבות, מצפה בריחתו מן הרשויות. גם אנחנו, אם כי ללא כל מסמכים רשמיים, כוזבים או אחר. אנחנו חמושים רק עם הרבה שפות דיקציה גילוי במהירות. אבל מילוני הזיקית שלנו להסוות אותנו כילידים, כמו קוצר הראייה התרבותית שלנו נצמדנו הכובעים לבד שלנו השטריימל צובל גם בקיץ החם. עד כמה בטוח שבטים נקבה באפריקה שאינם נתמכים אי פעם על ראשיהם, היהודים בטיסה לובשים עושרו תחת כובעו, או אפילו בם, כמו המוח הוא גמיש, אשר יכולה להעביר ולנהל המשא והמתן דרכך אל חיים חדשים במדינה אחרת יהלומים שיעזרו לשמן את הדרך. סימני בל יימחו באי הראייה הירודה שלנו, חיוורים עור (הוראה רבנית מאוחר) ו צם (!) פיאות. לא הסתגלות יעילה מאוד להישרדות. מה אני ממשיך לדבר איתנו? אף אחד זה לא בגדי stshmutter שלי. Stshmutter מגולם עכשיו סלנג באנגלית. מל לבד יהודים. למען המדינה היהודית לפני 1948 אין אסונות הלידה, כך שהם עושים? הם המציאו אחד. שאילה בכבדות מן דבורי הגרמניות סלאבית, הם בנו קריאולי. גילוי עריות Pasovoe. פרטי פוטר שלהם, כך שהם יכולים לשמור כמה סודות פחות מ מארחיהם. כמו צוענים, הומוסקסואלים ואסירים. כל מי שליווה אותם אל תאי הגזים. אבל גם ביידיש שלהם המזויפת חדש, יהודים שעשו את אותה הטעות שוב ושוב. הם הטילו סקריפט מקראי עליו עבור שעתוק. Homburg ואת השטריימל משעמם אותיות עבריות מערערות קוקייה מתחפרת בין המילים בגרמנית סלאבית. הם לא יכולים להסתיר את יהדותם (למרות האחרים מנסים במרץ למגר זאת עבורם). היא פועלת באמצעות אותם כמו סלע חוף ים מקל בריטי. הדבר היחיד שמפתיע אותי, כי אנגלית היא לא עברו האנגלים באותה דרך. היהודים לבלוט כמו עצם בגרון לעצור טרמפים. כאשר לאדיבות אנגלית דורשת זרת בלבד מקל מהידית כאשר שותה תה בספל חרסינה. אני שם לב כי הדור השני להגירה של היום הן אלה שהכי בהתלהבות לובשים ערכות העתק של ארצו המאומצת שלהם. שלושה אריות, ורד אדום וצלב (הצלבנים הצלב עם כל הנזק האגבי שהתפתח יהודים) St George ממותגים דרך הלב שלהם, כדי להפריך את בפיגמנטציה של העור. הוא לא היה עובד עבור היהודים חזרה היום, כסמל יצטרך לשכנע טלאי צהוב פוטנציאלי העולה מלמטה.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And (LO) is developed rapidly from a trilingual in Kvadrilingual. Implementing fourth language. Created with tires Kvaternate, even when the snake was only two and three of the Devil's pitchfork. See we are naturally good with languages that we are Jews. necessary. We have to accept the world's major circumstances of travel, business and trade and negotiate with us as we go, because we do not have anything meaningful debate and brought to market. We collect local dialects, which means we do not have our own mother language. For tribal artist, we jumped we stumbled along to the rhythms of a number of different languages in preparation. Like the robber, who has multiple passports to many nations, expects his flight from authorities. We also, though without any official documents, false or otherwise. We are armed only with a lot of speed detection diction languages. But our chameleon camouflage dictionaries us natives, as our cultural myopia glued to our own hats sable shtreimel even in the hot summer. How safe is female African tribes unsupported ever on their heads, Jews in flight wearing his wealth under his hat, or even in them, as the brain is flexible, which can transmit and negotiate your way to a new life in another country diamonds to help lubricate the road. Indelible marks on our island with low vision, pale skin (later rabbinical teaching) and fast (!) Wigs. Not very useful survival adaptation. What I continue to talk to us? None of this is not my stshmutter clothes. Stshmutter embodied now in English slang. Mel alone Jews. For the Jewish state before 1948 no disasters birth, so that they do? They invented one. Borrowing heavily from the German vernacular Slavic, they built a Creole. Incest Pasovoe. Their Potter information, so they can keep some secrets from their hosts less. Like gypsies, homosexuals and prisoners. Anyone who accompanied them to the gas chambers. But also a new forged their Yiddish, Jews made the same mistake again and again. They gave him a biblical script for transcription. Homburg and boring shtreimel Hebrew letters burrowing cuckoo undermine the German word Slav. They can not hide their Jewishness (though others are trying vigorously to eradicate it for them). It runs through them like a stick of rock British beach. The only thing that surprises me, because English is not passed the English in the same way. Jews stand out like a sore thumb to hitchhike. When English civility requires only a little finger stick the handle when drinking tea cup china. I noticed that second-generation immigrants of today are the ones most eagerly wearing replica kits of their adopted country. Three lions, red rose and a cross (Cross Crusaders with all the collateral damage ensuing Jews) St George branded through their heart, to refute the skin pigmentation. He was not working for the Jews back in the day, a symbol of Jewish badge will convince potential rising from below.</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">E)</span></b></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gradually each generation of my family has stripped away one of great-grandfather’s languages. His own son, though he kept up Yiddish and Russian, saw no need to preserve Polish, which left him unable to communicate with many of the pilots who were his comrades in The Battle Of Britain. My father dispensed with Russian, partly out of pique with the Communists and their refusal to let the Refuseniks emigrate to Israel. Me, I dropped the hoarily vestigial Yiddish. Though being sent to Sunday school to prepare for my bar-mitzvah, meant I absorbed a working knowledge of Ivrit, on a par with my workaday English. But none of this matters in this day and age. Since one now has instant access to many of the world’s tongues through online algorithms. Words through numbers. Jews have always been proficient with numbers. It comes I think from their language being a gematria. That every letter also has a numerical value, so that they can can assert essential truths three ways; because it is the word of god; because they can reason it out in argument with philosophical and logical proof; because the numbers add up and reveal it so. They’re adept with numbers, but their law forbids them from counting directly the number of Jews gathered together. Probably because it would reveal how many casualties they had suffered to arrive at that point. One has to query this supposed mathematical adeptness, seeing as they seem unable to add up all the relentless litany of persecution they have suffered. Since such an undeniable reckoning would have informed them that if this was all god’s work, then they needed to trade in for another less punitive divinity. Which of course many have done so throughout history, converting to the local persuasion either at the point of a whetted blade, or of their own cognisance as a pre-emptive survival measure. Nowadays the choice is less stark, but still there remains the sharp horns of a dilemma. That the inveterate threat of extinction does not solely come about through violence, but also through peace and security. The peril of assimilation. That they are so grateful to their host population who provide them sanctuary, they aspire to be just like them. Good people. Moral. Fair. They want to merge with them, absorb their qualities. They interbreed. Forgo their own religious observance. Far more attend football matches on a Saturday than their own mournful congregational services. Jews are only too eager to throw off their suits of sackcloth and ashes and don a pinstripe or worsted. Do you know how many days of fasting are on the Jewish calendar? Now you need to have a massacre over a certain scale to even rate a memorial day, so crowded is the annual schedule. Lent is for lightweights weighing in at a mere month, compared to the seven weeks of the Counting Of The Omer. Honestly, it’s not enough that Jews have the stringent food restrictions of the Passover to ‘celebrate’ the Exodus from Egypt, but immediately they put themselves in self-imposed purdah by forbidding music, haircuts, weddings and general things that make it worthwhile exodusing from slavery in the first place. They are allowed just one assigned day, the thirty-third, to indulge in any of these pleasures as if a mock to remind them what they’re missing out on. Jews no longer need to fear affliction at the hands of bigots, they are studiously devoted to heaping it upon themselves. So is it any wonder that so many seek cultural asylum in the arms of those who accommodate them?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">בהדרגה כל דור של המשפחה שלי הסיר ממנה באחת מהשפות של הסבא-רבא. הבן שלו, אם כי הוא המשיך ביידיש וברוסית, לא ראה צורך לשמר פולני, שהותיר אותו ללא יכולת לתקשר עם רבים של הטייסים שהיו חבריו בקרב על בריטניה. אבי לוותר רוסית, וקצת מתוך פיקה עם הקומוניסטים וסירובם לאפשר מסורבי העלייה להגר לישראל. Me, הפלתי את היידיש שריד כְּסוּף שֵׂעַר למרות שנשלחו הספר של יום ראשון כדי להתכונן הבר המצווה שלי, אמורים ספגתי ידע בסיסי העברי, בשורה אחת עם אנגלית היומיום שלי. אבל כל זה לא משנה זה יום בעידן. מאז אחד עכשיו יש גישה מיידית רבה של הלשונות בעולם באמצעות האלגוריתם מקוון. מילות באמצעות מספרים. היהודים תמיד היו בקיאים במספרים. זה בא, אני חושב המשפה שלהם להיות גימטריה. כי כל אות יש גם ערך מספרי, כך שהם יכולים יכולים לתבוע את אמיתות בסיסיות שלוש דרכים; כי זה דברי אלוהים חיים; כי הם יכולים ללבן את העניין בויכוח עם הוכחה פילוסופית והגיונית; כי המספרים מסתכמים ולחשוף את זה כל כך. הם מיומנים עם מספרים, אבל החוק שלהם אוסר עליהם מספירת ישירות מספר היהודים התאספו יחד. כנראה בגלל זה יחשוף כמה נפגעים שסבלו להגיע בשלב זה. יש נהג לפקפק אמור זה<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>זְרִיזוּת המתמטי, בהתחשב בעובדה שהם נראים מסוגלים סוכמים את הפזמון האכזרי של רדיפה שהם סבלו. מאז כזה התחשבנות מוטל בספק היה מודיע להם שאם זה היה כל עבודתו של אלוהים, אז הם צריכים לסחור בפחות אחר אלוהות ענישה. מה שכמובן רבים עשו זאת לאורך ההיסטוריה, המרה לשכנוע המקומי או בנקודת להב מושחז, או של הידיעה שלהם כאמצעי הישרדות מנע. כיום הבחירה היא פחות בוטה, אבל עדיין נותרת קרנות החדות של דילמה. זה איום ההכחדה המושבע לא בא על אך ורק באמצעות אלימות, אלא גם דרך זו בשלום ובביטחון. הסכנה של ההתבוללות. כי הם כל כך אסיר תודה האוכלוסייה המארחת אשר מספקת להם מקלט, הם שואפים להיות בדיוק כמוהם. אנשים טובים. מוסר השכל. הוֹגֶן. הם רוצים למזג איתם, לספוג האיכויות שלהם. הם מתרבים. לוותר הדתיות שלהם. רחוק יותר להשתתף במשחקי כדורגל בשבת מאשר שירותי הקהילה נכאים משלהם. היהודים הם להוטים לזרוק את החליפות שלהם של שק ואפר ללבוש פסים או צמר. האם אתה יודע כמה ימים של צום הם בלוח השנה היהודי? עכשיו אתה צריך לעבור טבח מעל בהיקף מסוים אפילו כדי לדרג יום זיכרון, כל כך צפוף הוא לוח זמנים שנתי. לנט הוא עבור קל במשקל ב חודש בלבד, לעומת שבעת השבועות של ספירת העומר. בכנות, זה לא מספיק כי יש ליהודים את הגבלות מזון המחמירות של פסח'לחגוג' יציאת מצרים, אבל מייד הם הכניסו את עצמם פארדה שכפתה על ידי מוסיקה אוסרת, תספורות, חתונות דברים כלליים שהופכים אותו סֵפֶר שֵׁמוֹת כדאי עבדות מלכתחילה. להם מותר רק אחד מוקצה היום, השליש השלושים, כדי להתענג על כל ההנאות האלה כאילו מדומה כדי להזכיר להם מה הם מפספסים. יהודים כבר לא צריכים לפחד נגע בידי קנאים, הם מוקדשים בשקידה כדי מרעיף על עצמם. אז מה הפלא שכל כך הרבה לבקש מקלט תרבותי בזרועות מי להכיל אותם?</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">седина постепенно каждое поколение моей семьи взял ее на один из языков прадеда. Его сын, хотя он продолжал идиш и русский, не видел необходимости сохранения полюса, что он не в состоянии общаться со многими из пилотов, которые были друзьями в Великобритании. Отец, чтобы дать русским и немного из Пике с коммунистами и их отказом позволить отказники эмигрировать в Израиль. Меня, я уронил седую реликтовый идиш Несмотря послали в воскресную школу, чтобы подготовиться к моей бар-мицвы, я должен был базовые знания иврита, в соответствии с моей повседневной английский язык. Но все это не имеет значения, в этот день эпоху. Так как один теперь имеет мгновенный доступ к большинству языков мира через интернет-алгоритма. Песня с использованием номеров. Евреи всегда были опытными в цифрах. Он приходит, я думаю, что их семью в нумерологии. Что каждая буква имеет числовое значение, так что они могут могут претендовать на основные истины тремя способами; Потому что это слово Божие; То, что они могут говорить вещи философские дебаты с доказательствами и логично; Тот факт, что цифры складываются и выставить его так. Они являются квалифицированными с числами, но их закон запрещает их напрямую подсчитать количество евреев собрались вместе. Вероятно потому, что он выставляет одних несчастных пострадал достичь этой стадии. Там же это предполагается запросить живость математики, учитывая, что они, кажется, способны сложить хор жестокого преследования они пострадали. Поскольку такая расплата вызывает сомнения бы сообщил им, что, если это была работа Бога, то они должны торговать меньше за божественным наказанием. Что, конечно, многие из них сделали это на протяжении всей истории, внутренний или преобразование в точке убеждении отточенные лезвия, или их знания как средство выживания предотвращены. Сегодня выбор является более тонким, но по-прежнему остается дилемма острых средств. Эта угроза исчезновения поклялись не произошло только через насилие, а через мир и безопасность. Опасность ассимиляции. Потому что они настолько благодарны населения принимающей страны, которая предоставляет им убежище, они стремятся быть похожим на них. Хорошие люди. Мораль. Приличнее. Они хотят слиться с ними, поглощая их качества. Они размножаются. Отбросьте их религиозные. Далее посещать футбольные матчи в субботу, чем их собственные услуги могильных сообщества. Евреи хотят бросить свои костюмы рубище и пепел носить полосы или шерсть. Вы знаете, сколько дней поста являются еврейский календарь? Теперь вы должны иметь определенный масштаб расправ над даже оценить день памяти, настолько плотным, является годовой график. Пост для легкого веса всего за один месяц, по сравнению с семи недель Омера. Честно говоря, это не достаточно, что евреи имеют жесткие ограничения в продуктах питания пасха исходу из Египта, но вскоре они поставили себя Фарда наложены запреты музыки, стрижках, свадьбы общие вещи, которые делают его полезным Исход рабство в первую очередь. Им разрешается только один назначается день, тридцать третьей, чтобы пользоваться всеми этими удовольствиями хотели бы напомнить им, что моделируемый, что они пропали без вести. Евреи больше не должны бояться тронутый фанатиков, они усердно посвящены поливать себя. Так стоит ли удивляться, что так много искать убежища в руках тех, кто держит их культурно?</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Greyhair gradually every generation of my family took her to one of his great-grandfather languages. His son, though he continued to Yiddish and Russian, have not seen the need to maintain the pole that he was not able to communicate with many of the pilots who were friends in the UK. Father to give Russian and a little out of Piquet with the Communists and their refusal to allow the refuseniks to emigrate to Israel. Me, I dropped a hoary relic Yiddish Despite sent to Sunday school, to prepare for my bar mitzvah, I had a basic knowledge of Hebrew, in accordance with my everyday English. But all this does not matter in this day age. Since one now has instant access to most of the world's languages through an online algorithm. Song using numbers. Jews have always been experienced in the figures. It comes, I think their family in numerology. With each letter has a numeric value, so that they can may qualify for the basic truths in three ways; Because this is the word of God; What they may say things philosophical debate with evidence and logical; The fact that the numbers add up and put it so. They are skilled with numbers, but the law prohibits them directly count the number of the Jews come together. Probably because it exposes some casualties suffered reach this stage. There is expected to seek the liveliness of mathematics, given that they seem to be able to lay down a chorus of brutal persecution they suffered. Since such a payment would doubt told them that if it was the work of God, that they should trade less for divine punishment. Which, of course, many of them have done so throughout history, domestic or conversion at the point of belief honed blades, or their knowledge as a means of survival prevented. Today, the choice is more subtle, but still remains the dilemma of sharp tools. This threat of extinction vowed not happen only through violence, but through peace and security. The danger of assimilation. Because they are so grateful to the people of the host country, which provides them shelter, they strive to be like them. Good people. Morality. Decent. They want to merge with them, absorbing their qualities. They multiply. Drop them religious. Next, go to football games on Saturday than their own burial service community. The Jews want to leave their suits to wear sackcloth and ashes, or hair bands. You know how many days of fasting are the Jewish calendar? Now you should have a certain scale of the killings even estimate the memory day, so dense it is the annual schedule. Fasting for light weight in just one month, compared with seven weeks of the Omer. Frankly, it is not enough that the Jews have severe limitations in food Easter exodus from Egypt, but soon they put themselves Farda imposed bans music, hairstyles, wedding general things that make it a useful outcome of slavery in the first place. They are allowed only one assigned day, thirty-third, to enjoy all these pleasures would like to remind them that simulated what they are missing. The Jews do not have to be afraid anymore touched by fanatics, they zealously devoted themselves to water. So is it any wonder that so many seek refuge in the hands of those who keep their culture?</span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">F)</span></b></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There are three types of response from those left aghast at the prospect of such defections. The first group take it upon themselves militantly to breed like rabbits to make up for the loss of numbers. The political wing emphasise cultural education, trying to ensure Jews wed Jews rather than marry ‘out’ and raising their 2.4 children with a full awareness of their Jewish heritage. In this country they formally dub themselves ‘Continuity’. On the next island over, the Catholics there also have a<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>‘Continuity’ movement, but they are dedicated to insurrection and continuing a war after their allies laid down their weapons for peace. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so churlish, since they too are concerned with issues of a homeland, even though such a concept is incongruous to me. Maybe one day I shall end up on the shores of that island just across the water. Not as a holiday, for such a notion is a fatuity. I hie to places not as a tourist, but as a weary sojourner. Somewhere I can lay my notional hat (neither homburg nor shtreimel) of a night or three. Yet my ethno-cultural spidey senses tingle whenever I consider the island immediately to the west. A prodigious love of alcohol, Roman Catholicism and lush green fields have not in the past proved propitious a mix for a Jewish combine. There again they have produced incomparable writers such as Joyce and Beckett, both of whom it ought to be pointed out wrote from exile. Perhaps I too ought to record my exile, but then I lack for a native tongue of my own. They wouldn’t be my words, just importations. Appropriations. An arrogation. Tongue-tied, as in impaled on the hooks of others. And the third recusant accusing cohort? Well their stance can be summed up in the phrase, ‘so you’re letting Hitler win after all’. That voting out of the religion with your feet is somehow a goose-step straight into the Nazi endgame. The guilt card is wielded to try and prevent you wholly casting your lot in with the local natives. Guilt, the Jews’ achilles heel. The shameless foreskin is cut away to expose the shamefaced manhood. When you are elevated to the status of god’s chosen people, it’s a calling that is almost impossible to fulfil. The standards are too high to meet, you are doomed to fail and spend your whole life wondering how to make up for those failures. More sensitive souls also glom on to the other part of this equation, if Jews are the chosen people, then all other races are inferior, so you have to steel yourself from ever expressing this. You become hyper-aware of causing the slightest slight, beating yourself up for giving the smallest offence. Then there is the guilt through suffering, a remorseless survivor guilt, but also one that serves to empower parents over their children. Because of a legacy of persecution and prejudice, parents demand strict adherence from their children for their own protection. To veer too close to the indigenes invites only a whole heap of trouble being brought down on their heads. Only staying true to Jewish ways and values can provide immunity, despite the overwhelming historical evidence that doing just that can equally spell the utmost calamity. I am so estranged from all of my strain, that I the great traveller do not submit to any of these guilt trips. However, ever resourceful, there has developed a new sub-category to which I have succumbed. With a spiritual homeland of their own, brought about through the sequestration of territory from the autocththonal denizens, now is conferred oppressor guilt.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">ישנם שלושה סוגים של תגובה של נשארים מזועזעים מהאפשרות של עריקות כאלה. הקבוצה הראשונה לקחת את זה על עצמם באופן מיליטנטי להתרבות כמו שפנים כדי לפצות על האובדן של מספרים. הזרוע הפוליטית דגש על חינוך תרבות, מנסה להבטיח יהודים להינשא ליהודים ולא להתחתן 'החוצה' והעלאת 2.4 ילדיהם עם מודעות מלאה של המורשת היהודית שלהם. במדינה הזאת הם מכנים את עצמם באופן רשמי "המשכיות". על האי הסמוך, הקתולים יש גם יש תנועה 'המשכיות', אבל הם מוקדשים התקוממות והמשך מלחמה לאחר בריתם הניחו את נשקם לשלום. אולי לא הייתי צריך להיות כל כך גס רוח, שכן הם גם עוסקים בנושאים של מולדת, למרות מושג שממילא לא מתאים לי. אולי יום אחד אני אהיה בסופו של דבר על חוף האי כי רק על פני המים. לא כחג עבור רעיון כזה הוא סכלותם. אני "היק למקומות לא כתייר, אבל כמו גר עייף. באיזשהו מקום אני יכול להניח הכובע הרעיוני שלי (לא כובע-הומבורג ולא השטריימל) של לילה אחד או שלוש. עם זאת ספיידרמן האתנו-תרבותיים שלי חש עקצוץ בכל פעם שאני רואה את האי מיד ממערב. אהבה אדירה של אלכוהול, הנצרות קתולית ושדות ירוקים שופעים יש לא בעבר הוכיח שילוב מתאים לכינוס לשלב יהודי. יש שוב הם יצרו סופרים שאין כמו ג'ויס ובקט, שניהם זה צריך להיות ציין כתב מהגלות. אולי גם אני צריך להקליט לגלותי, אבל אז לא חסר לי לשון יליד משלי. הם לא יהיו המילים שלי, רק לייבוא. הקצבות. הַפקָעָה. כבד לשון, כמו משופד על הווים של אחרים. ואת מוֹרֵד השלישי מאשים עוקבה? ובכן עמדו אפשר לסכם במשפט, "כך שאת נותנת להיטלר לנצח אחרי הכל". הצבעה שמתוך הדת עם הרגליים היא איכשהו א-צעד אווז ישר לתוך סוף המשחק הנאצי. כרטיס אשמת פעילה לנסות ולמנוע אותך אך ורק ליהוק הרבה שלך עם הילידים המקומיים. אשמה, עקב אכילס של היהודים. עורלת בושה היא לחתוך לחשוף את הגבריות המבוישת. כאשר אתה למעמד של העם הנבחר של אלוהים, זה קורא כי הוא כמעט בלתי אפשרי למלא. הסטנדרטים גבוהים מדי כדי לענות, אתה נידון להיכשל ומבלה כל החיים שלך תוהה כיצד לפצות על כשלים אלה. עוד נשמות רגישות גם גנבו שראש אל החלק האחר של משוואה זו, אם יהודים הם העם הנבחר, אז כל שאר הגזעים נחותים, ולכן אתה צריך פלדה עצמך אי פעם מלהביע זה. אתה הופך להיות מודע יֶתֶר בגרימת השמץ קל, להכות את עצמך על שנתת העבירה הקטנה ביותר. ואז יש את האשמה באמצעות סבל, אשמה ניצול רחמים, אלא גם אחד המשמש להעצמת הורים על ילדיהם. בגלל מורשת של רדיפה ודעות קדומות, ההורים דורשים הקפדה מילדיהם, למען ביטחונם האישי. כדי לסטות מדי קרוב הילידים מזמין ערימה של צרות שלמה בלבד הבאתו על ראשם. רק להישאר נאמן דרכים וערכים יהודים יכול לספק חסינות, למרות עדויות ההיסטוריות המכריעות כי רק עושים את זה יכול באותה מידה לאיית את האסון העליון. אני כל כך מנוכר כל הזן שלי, שאני הנוסע הגדול אל תפרסם לכל נסיעות האשמות אלה. עם זאת, אי פעם תושייה, התפתח תת-קטגוריה חדשה שבה אני נכנע. עם מולדת רוחנית משלהם, ביאה דרך התפיסה של שטח בין שוכני יְלִידִי,עכשיו מוענקת אשמה צוררת.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tá trí chineál freagartha fhág shocked ag an ionchas defections dá leithéid. An chéad ghrúpa chun é a chur ar iad féin cine cathach cosúil le coiníní chúiteamh i leith an chaillteanais na n-uimhreacha. An lámh pholaitiúil Fócas ar oideachas, cultúr, ag iarraidh a chinntiú go pósadh Giúdaigh Giúdaigh, gan pósadh 'amach' agus ardú 2.4 leanaí a bhfuil láneolas a n-oidhreacht Giúdach. Sa tír seo a thugann siad orthu féin go hoifigiúil "leanúnachas". Ar oileán in aice láimhe, tá Caitlicigh chomh guta 'leanúnachas', ach tá siad tiomanta do insurgency leanúnach agus cogadh i ndiaidh na allies atá leagtha síos a n-airm ar son na síochána. B'fhéidir nár chóir dom a bheith chomh drochbhéasach mar déileáil leo chomh maith le saincheisteanna a bhaineann le homeland, cé nach bhfuil an coincheap go dtí mé. B'fhéidir go lá amháin beidh mé deireadh suas ar an trá oileán ach ar fud an t-uisce. Níl aon saoire do den sórt sin smaoineamh baoise. scóip I 'ar áiteanna nach mar turasóireachta, ach mar tuirseach. Áit éigin beo is féidir liom glacadh leis hata mo smaoineamh (gan hata-Homburg agus Shtreimel) d'oíche amháin nó trí. Mar sin féin Spiderman Bhraith mianach ethno-chultúrtha griofadach gach uair a fheicim an t-oileán láithreach siar. ghrá aige alcóil, nach bhfuil Rómhánach Caitliceachas agus páirceanna méithe glasa léirithe cheana meascán propitious a chur le chéile na Giúdaigh. ann arís, tá siad chruthaigh comhaireamh go mar Joyce agus Beckett, an mbeirt acu ba chóir é a thabhairt faoi deara gur scríobh ón deoraíocht. b'fhéidir gur chóir mo deoraíocht, ach mar sin, easpa mé an teanga a rugadh de mo chuid féin. nach bhfuil siad mo bhriathra, ach allmhairiú. leithdháiltí. scoitheadh. stammers, mar impaled ar crúcaí daoine eile. agus insurgent tríú cúisí cohórt? Bhuel sheas I focal, "mar sin go bhfuil tú ag ligean ar cíos Hitler bua i ndiaidh tá gach rud. "ag cur in iúl an reiligiún leis na cosa ar bhealach céim-ar-lacha ceart isteach sa deireadh an chluiche Naitsithe. cártaí cúisithe ag iarraidh cosc a chaith tú ach do go leor leis na daoine dúchasacha. ciontacht, an tsáil Achilles na nGiúdach. tá foreskin de náire gearrtha a nochtadh ar an cúthail firinscneach . nuair a bheidh an stádas na daoine atá roghnaithe Dé, léann sé go bhfuil sé beagnach dodhéanta a líonadh. caighdeáin ró-ard chun freastal, tá tú i doomed a theipeann agus a chaitheamh do shaol ar fad wondering conas mar chúiteamh ar na teipeanna. anamacha níos íogaire ghoid fiú an ceann ar an chuid eile den chothromóid, má tá na Giúdaigh na daoine atá roghnaithe, ansin tá na rásaí eile inferior, ionas go mbeidh tú chruach féin in iúl riamh é. Bheith tú ar an eolas faoin iliomad cúis leid éadrom, beating féin suas le haghaidh a thabhairt ar an gcion a laghad. Ansin tá an chiontacht trí fulaingt, úsáid ciontacht trócaire, ach freisin ar cheann a úsáidtear chun tuismitheoirí a chumasú lena gcuid páistí. Mar gheall ar an oidhreacht na géarleanúna agus dochar, a cheangal ar thuismitheoirí a gcuid páistí go docht as a gcuid féin. Chun veer ró-aice leis an dúchais cuireadh a gcarn iomlán na trioblóide díreach á thabhairt ar a gceann. Just fanacht luachanna Giúdach fíor agus bealaí a d'fhéadfadh a chur ar fáil díolúine, ainneoin fianaise stairiúil mór a dhéanamh ach d'fhéadfadh sé chomh maith litrithe barr tubaiste. Tá mé ag choimhthiú sin go léir mo cineál, Tá mé ag dul go dtí an iar léir an taistil mór sna líomhaintí. Mar sin féin, bhí riamh seiftiúil, d'fhorbair fochatagóir nua ina ghéill mé. An homeland spioradálta dá gcuid féin, Bea trí an dearcadh de spás idir na cónaitheoirí dúchasacha, arna dheonú anois timfhilleadh ciontach.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There are three types of response left shocked at the prospect of such defections. The first group to take it on themselves to breed like rabbits militant compensate for the loss of numbers. The political arm Focus on education, culture, trying to ensure that Jews marry Jews, not to marry 'out' and raising 2.4 children with full awareness of their Jewish heritage. In this country they call themselves officially "continuity". On a nearby island, Catholics are as vowel 'continuity', but they are committed to the ongoing insurgency and war after the allies laid down their arms for peace. Perhaps I should not be so rude as they also deal with issues related to homeland, although the concept is not for me. Maybe one day I'll end up on the beach island just across the water. No holiday for such foolishness idea. In scope of places not as a tourist, but as tired. Live somewhere I can assume my thinking hat (without hat-Homburg and Shtreimel) for one night or three. However Spiderman ethno-cultural felt tingling mine every time I see the immediate previous island. His love of alcohol, not Roman Catholicism and lush green fields already shown propitious mix to combine the Jews. There again, they have created count as Joyce and Beckett, both of them should be noted that write from exile. It may be my exile, but so, I lack the language born of my own. They are not my words, but import. Allocations. Overtaking. Stammers, impaled on hooks as others. And third accused insurgent cohort? Well I stood up, "so that you are letting Hitler win after everything." Pointing the religion with feet on step-by-way duck right into the end of the game Nazis. Accused cards trying to prevent you spent but for many of the indigenous people. Guilt, the Achilles heel of the Jews. Foreskin of shame is cut to expose the masculine shy. When the status of the chosen people of God, it reads that it is almost impossible to fill. Standards too high to meet, you are doomed to fail and to spend your whole life wondering how to compensate for the failures. More sensitive souls even stole the one the rest of the equation, if the Jews are the chosen people, then the other races are inferior, so you have to steel ourselves to never. You become aware of the many causes mild hint, beating yourself up for giving the least offence. Then the guilt through suffering, guilt use mercy, but also one that is used to enable parents with their children. Because of the legacy of persecution and prejudice, parents require their children strictly for their own. To veer too close to the native was a whole heap of trouble just being on their behalf. Just stay true Jewish values and ways may provide immunity, despite historical evidence to make great but it could also spell disaster top. I'm so alienated all my type, I'm going to post all the great travel in the allegations. However, ever resourceful, developed a new subcategory in which I did. The spiritual homeland of their own, the perception of May through space between the indigenous residents, granted now wrapping guilty.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">G)</span></b></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At one time I thought I’d sample living in the presumptive Zion. Not a motherland. Not the old country. More sort of a foster homeland. With ready made equivalents of the Indian reservations and Bantustans. But then it should hardly come as any surprise. I may not speak Russian, but I can recognise when it is being spoken. The Russian emigres were comparing notes with the post-Apartheid South African Jews. Oppression was their shared lingua franca. The Russians had left behind the Iron Curtain, but seemed keen to re-enact it in physical form in their new adoptive land. Just with them on the other side this time. And so a great wall was built, with the South Africans whispering to them not to mention the word ‘apartheid’ in public or polite company. Jews really should know better than most, not to revisit their woes upon the Palestinian population. Yet still they act as those prisoners desperate to elevate themselves from the bottom rung by picking on those perceived as nonces and outcasts. However, temperamentally, the bottom is exactly the rung I feel I am most comfortable on. Maybe I should try and identify with the Palestinians. Perhaps I should go the whole hog and relocate myself into one of the refugee camp-cum-towns there. Apply for citizenship, after all I am a Semite. But not a brother. I would be found out inevitably. Marked out as an infiltrator. An Isra-eli agent. I wouldn’t last ten seconds there. Ten seconds there, two years here, four months somewhere else. What difference does it make? The authorities asked if I was planning to relocate with a promise of my inalienable right to an acre but no mule, but that I would also have to join their army as a corollary of citizenship. I took a steer from my great-grandfather’s playbook and skedaddled. Four generations on and we haven’t advanced the situation one jot. And so I returned here my temporary lodgings in the UK to find they’d held a referendum steeped in notions of identity and sovereignty. And within weeks I saw the rise in hate crimes and scapegoating and I felt that old familiar instinct to move on. I was no longer to be a Brit, but a European. I headed West over the Irish Sea and took my broken English with me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">בשלב מסוים חשבתי לטעום המגורים הציון המשוער. לא מולד. לא במולדת הישנה. סוג נוסף של מולדת אומנה. במקבילות מוכנות של בשמורות האינדיאניות ובנטוסטנים. אבל אז זה לא צריך לבוא בתור הפתעה כלשהי. אולי אני לא מדבר רוסי, אבל אני יכול לזהות מתי זה להיות מדובר. הגולים הרוסים מחליפים רשמים עם יהודיי אפריקה שלאחר האפרטהייד בדרום. דיכוי היה לשון משותפת המשותפת. הרוסים עזבו מאחורי מסך הברזל, אך נראה להוט לשחזר אותו בצורה פיזית בארץ המאמצת החדשה שלהם. רק איתם בצד השני הפעם. וכך קיר גדול נבנה, עם הדרום האפריקאי שלוחש להם לא להזכיר את המילה 'אפרטהייד' ב חברה ציבורית או מנומסת. היהודים באמת צריך לדעת טוב יותר מאשר רוב, לא לבקר שוב צרותיהם על האוכלוסייה הפלסטינית. ועדיין הם המשיכו לפעול כמו אלה אסירים נואשים להתעלות מלמטה שלב אחרי להיטפל נתפסי סדומאי ומנודים. עם זאת, מבחינת מזג, התחתון הוא בדיוק השלב אני מרגיש הכי נוח לי לכתוב על. אולי אני צריך לנסות ולזהות עם הפלסטינים. אולי אני צריך ללכת עד הסוף ולעבור את עצמי לתוך אחת הערים במחנה ודירת הפליטים שם. להגיש בקשה לאזרחות, אחרי הכל אני שמי. אבל לא אח. אני אמצא את עצמי בחוץ בהכרח. מסומן בתור מסתנן. סוכן ישרא-eli. לא הייתי מחזיק מעמד עשר שניות שם. עשר שניות שם, כאן שנים, ארבעה חודשים במקום אחר. איזה שינוי זה עושה? הרשויות שאלו אם תכננתי להעביר עם הבטחה של הזכות המובנת מאליה שלי אקר אבל לא פרד, אבל אני אצטרך גם להצטרף צבאם כמסקנה של אזרחות. לקחתי שור מ משחק-ספר של הסבא-רבא שלי התחפפתי. ארבעה דורות על ואנחנו לא קדמנו את המצב יוד אחת. וכך חזרתי לכאן הלינה הזמנית שלי בבריטניה למצוא שהם קיימו משאל עם ספוגי מושגי זהות וריבונות. ותוך כמה שבועות ראיתי עליית פשעי שנאת שעירים לעזאזל והרגשתי אינסטינקט ישן ומוכר להמשיך הלאה. כבר לא הייתי להיות ברית, אלא אירופאי. פניתי מערבית מעל הים האירי ולקחתי באנגלית הרצוצה שלי איתי.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ag pointe amháin Blaisim cónaithe scór thart. Níl dúchasach. Gan sa tír d'aois. Eile de chineál homeland altrama. Línte ullmhacht cúlchistí Indiach agus Bantustans. Ach ansin ní ba chóir dó teacht mar aon iontas. B'fhéidir nach féidir liom labhairt Rúisis, ach is féidir liom a rá nuair a bheidh sé a bheith i gceist. deoraithe na Rúise nótaí le dúichí Giúdach san Afraic Theas i ndiaidh apartheid i gcomparáid. Ba faoi chois fhriotal coiteann coitianta. An Rúiseach fágadh den Chuirtín Iarainn, is cosúil ag dúil go mór a ghnóthú fisiciúil ina thíre nua. Ach amháin leo ar an taobh eile an am seo. Ocus balla mór tógtha, le promptings an Afraic Theas nach bhfuil siad ag trácht ar an focal 'apartheid' i poiblí nó dea-bhéasach. Ba chóir Giúdaigh a fhios i ndáiríre níos fearr ná an chuid is, gan dul siar a gcuid trioblóidí ar an daonra na Palaistíne. Agus fós lean siad ag feidhmiú mar a bhfuil na príosúnaigh éadóchasach go n-ardóidh ón gcéim bun tar éis piocadh iad Léirítear sodomite agus outcasts. Mar sin féin, i dtaca le haimsir, is é an bun díreach an chéim is dóigh liom an chuid is mó compordach a scríobh ar. B'fhéidir gur chóir dom iarracht a dhéanamh agus a aithint leis na Palaistínigh. B'fhéidir gur chóir dom dul go léir ar an mbealach agus mé féin bogadh isteach i gceann de na campa cathracha dídeanaí agus árasán ann. Iarratas a dhéanamh ar shaoránacht, tar éis an tsaoil Tá mé m'ainm. Ach ní deartháir. Bhfaighidh mé mé féin amach ann gá go. Marcáilte mar intruder. Roinnt gníomhaire Iosraelach Eli. Ní ba mhaith liom a mhair deich soicind ann. Deich soicind ann, anseo le blianta, ceithre mhí in áiteanna eile. Cad a dhéanann an t-athrú? Údaráis iarr má Phleanáil mé a bhogadh leis an dearbhú de mo léir ceart-acra ach ní Fred, ach ba mhaith liom a bheith chomh maith a bheith ar an arm mar a thabhairt i gcrích ar shaoránacht. Ghlac mé tarbh ó chluiche-leabhar mo shin-seanathair lit amach. Ceithre glúnta ar, agus ní dhéanaimid Kedman an staid bhreacadh amháin. Mar sin, tháinig mé anseo ar mo cóiríocht shealadach sa RA fuair ar siúl acu reifreann coincheapa spongy céannachta agus flaitheas. Agus laistigh de chúpla seachtain mé le feiceáil an t-ardú coireanna scapegoats agus fuath bhraith instinct an eolas d'aois chun bogadh ar aghaidh. Mé a thuilleadh chomhghuaillíocht, ach na hEorpa. Chas mé thiar thar Mhuir Éireann agus ghlac mé mo Béarla briste dom.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At one point I taste some foot residence. No indigenous. Not in the old country. Another type of foster homeland. Lines readiness Indian reserves and Bantustans. But then it should come as no surprise. Maybe I do not speak Russian, but I can say when it will be in question. Russian exiles notes with Jewish localities in South Africa after apartheid comparison. Common language was suppressed popular. The Russians left behind the Iron Curtain, seems eager to recover physically a new country. Save them on the other side this time. And large wall built with South Africa promptings they do not mention the word 'apartheid' in public or polite. Jews should really know better than most, without going back to their troubles on the Palestinian population. And yet they continued to act as the prisoners are desperate to rise from the bottom stage after picking sodomite and outcasts are shown. However, in terms of weather, the bottom is just the stage I feel the most comfortable to write on. Maybe I should try and identify with the Palestinians. Maybe I should go all the way and I move into one of the cities refugee camp and apartments there. Applying for citizenship, after all, I have my name. But brother. I find myself out there necessarily. Marked as an intruder. Some Israeli agent Eli. I would not survive ten seconds there. Ten seconds there, here for years, four months elsewhere. What does this change? Authorities asked if I planned to move all the assurance of my right acres but not Fred, but I would also have to join the army as a reality of citizenship. I took a match-book bull from my great-grandfather lit out. Four generations on, and makes the situation Kedman one jot. So, I came here on my temporary accommodation in the UK found they held a referendum spongy concepts of identity and sovereignty. And within a few weeks I've seen the rise of hate crimes scapegoats and instinct felt the old knowledge to move forward. I further alliance, but Europe. I turned west across the Irish Sea and I took my broken English to me.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">H)</span></b></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">/-/<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>br ˚<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>.. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>_\| <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>….. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><,<:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>.¶.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>=\..& .. ˚<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>¬…ee <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>≈∫-…\ <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>∞ • § … ‡° Æ» .. ˜l∫_—<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>∞?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">* *. *. *. *</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVwz6Fn9qY-YR6-_b8qgClNVRrD0kHIU0woBFX2rj0Y3ecy4kfvTGOxDOntGsn7hP0_GrzMXvTxhWKy7DwSlJG72yTUWZCK8lxfJ6ri07-3i1FSllhrKyR77FA6pZ7OFTgxkbx6lek8pApGUwV_SsA5QwIMY6O4seA1Jp20hvS-hKEoMl2bThh38E/s3496/nash-space1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3496" data-original-width="2480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVwz6Fn9qY-YR6-_b8qgClNVRrD0kHIU0woBFX2rj0Y3ecy4kfvTGOxDOntGsn7hP0_GrzMXvTxhWKy7DwSlJG72yTUWZCK8lxfJ6ri07-3i1FSllhrKyR77FA6pZ7OFTgxkbx6lek8pApGUwV_SsA5QwIMY6O4seA1Jp20hvS-hKEoMl2bThh38E/w454-h640/nash-space1.jpg" width="454" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB_uhsSLyMnFbb3kk7866K8llVMK7dVOColNC3KxWucIxkAEc5dwLee-EwKTn1WheykppPdlAszp0oGo3ubZE09UKmzdh3qgTwzTFqTLuCggWZTwe411LBF9GrqIe9GPdRhF3NHwLnDpcrZgcVQUuRIfemepKr9LMN0dmRWwg7-GJ-e2OIDhi6d_7r/s3496/nash-space2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3496" data-original-width="2480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB_uhsSLyMnFbb3kk7866K8llVMK7dVOColNC3KxWucIxkAEc5dwLee-EwKTn1WheykppPdlAszp0oGo3ubZE09UKmzdh3qgTwzTFqTLuCggWZTwe411LBF9GrqIe9GPdRhF3NHwLnDpcrZgcVQUuRIfemepKr9LMN0dmRWwg7-GJ-e2OIDhi6d_7r/w454-h640/nash-space2.jpg" width="454" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Why not try out my<a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2017/10/alternative-uk-citizens-test.html" target="_blank"> Alternative UK Citizenship Test</a> and see if you'd make the grade?</span><p></p>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-50248031770591960592023-03-09T21:37:00.005+00:002023-03-09T21:44:25.218+00:00Where Does Creativity Come From?<p><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The question writers get asked most frequently is ‘where do you get your ideas from?’ We no longer credit that writers are beholden to their muses for literary inspiration, though a higher level answer is probably not possible either, since we remain in the dark on many processes in the brain, including that of creativity. The creative imagination may be built from an incessant curiosity, to ask questions about the world around us and an ability to make connections between things that are not handed down as part of our conceptual templates. But that is about as much as we can say at this point through the understanding afforded by neuroscience. A novelist asks questions and makes associations that are sustained over the length of a two hundred page book. That is an embodiment of the creative process, but not really an explanation of it. The author would prefer that the book speaks for itself and reveals its ideas, rather than have to explain it in interviews and essays.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The act of writing is a prosaic (pun intended) one, banal even. Sat at a desk typing on a keyboard, is no different from the action for an accountant or an actuary going through claims reports. It contains no magic. The accountant has their books of tax tables, the actuary their volumes on statistics and probability, while we authors have dictionaries and thesauruses. Of course, for all three of us now, these are available online in a mere extra window on our browser, thus streamlining and decluttering our desks and workstations further. On the wall of a writer’s study may be further evidence of the mundane; sticky notes, handwritten lists, graphs or diagrams plotting relationships or geographical choreography. Perhaps red twine, held by pins, links characters visually there on the wall as a mnemonic for the writer. Such a display has echoes of a police incident room, only lacking for photos of persons of interest.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I can trace back the origin ideas for my latest novel. My conscious mind was musing (unintended pun) on the abstract concept of justice, which does not exist in Nature, codified into laws and how those laws are examined in instances of infraction, by recourse to fragments and traces of material evidence. Moving from the abstract to gross matter in such manner, seemed to me a mirroring of phenomenology’s ongoing inquiry into the balance between the materialist and the idealist conceptualisations of the world. My unconscious mind came up with the image of a particular staged crime scene in vivid detail, but no associated notions of how it fitted with anything else, such as a victim or a detective’s inquiry. When I brought the two together, there was the launch pad for the novel. One from curiosity and questioning, the other from heaven knows where, possibly from some remembered dream imagery.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I am an author who likes to show his workings. Not merely as some afterword in the end pages of a novel, but embedded into the structure and form of the novel itself. In this case, I have an author character doing exactly what I talked of above. Having finished the previous sections of the book, including the mystery thriller/ police procedural element and an exploration of why that halted<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>suddenly and unsolved, this author is taking down his notes from the wall of his study and tidying up his pens. His mind ranges over speculations such as the book’s critical reception, likely interview questions and whether the notes he’s removing should form part of a notional literary archive. There is a tension between him preserving the mystery of the dark arts of writing, versus not over-explaining his novel and taking the artistry out of it by relaying where his ideas for the book came from. It is in this tension, that the process of thriller writing is itself demystified. From the mundane act of sitting typing at a desk, to a book that thrills a reader in their imagination, is no less of a leap as that of the abstract concept of justice is from the material evidence that underpins it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH55VK488PDzHENR3RVVPLfcYlouIk9zOLkXFI4_QUYAYpKKzntnUM4eXv2f1lvp1hXgyyAdDpXuBjlxk5P3ph6x77lIWTiKAUaacn1JbX8bEKwOwvXBTKZSjtN73CzqRXagQBPcNJa16pa4rhXtIVq-uFcqwMxDbd3-u1suQyyLE4Ayqgwx_YUZb/s1600/Kaiser%20Sose.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH55VK488PDzHENR3RVVPLfcYlouIk9zOLkXFI4_QUYAYpKKzntnUM4eXv2f1lvp1hXgyyAdDpXuBjlxk5P3ph6x77lIWTiKAUaacn1JbX8bEKwOwvXBTKZSjtN73CzqRXagQBPcNJa16pa4rhXtIVq-uFcqwMxDbd3-u1suQyyLE4Ayqgwx_YUZb/w640-h360/Kaiser%20Sose.png" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQI981WIlQrKO8CXZJsGeSMWFSqVWNtYEAXmyvbHQJ036LtbK0k38lTcmjDIjmdNUFtHXA6RWLOjofXchE0zZ_wqP17G1RxekxXlM7l_GUaAM7-zh-CuTsPgZPVLFqUBPGw-q1653bLNzzU9WXDN-c7WJbl7zDVEyAL0nQ_twg21NoZSu_RIVt8wSU/s1600/Readers%20Critics.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQI981WIlQrKO8CXZJsGeSMWFSqVWNtYEAXmyvbHQJ036LtbK0k38lTcmjDIjmdNUFtHXA6RWLOjofXchE0zZ_wqP17G1RxekxXlM7l_GUaAM7-zh-CuTsPgZPVLFqUBPGw-q1653bLNzzU9WXDN-c7WJbl7zDVEyAL0nQ_twg21NoZSu_RIVt8wSU/w640-h360/Readers%20Critics.png" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-converted-space">My new novel </span>“The Death Of The Author (In Triplicate)”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Available direct <a href="https://coronasamizdat.com/index.php?id_product=89&rewrite=the-death-of-the-author-in-triplicate-marc-nash&controller=product" target="_blank">from the publisher</a> Corona\Samizdat</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8SWO0MfMp9I" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>For the full extra content on my new novel, more videos and quote cards, go <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2023/02/the-death-of-author-in-triplicate.html" target="_blank">here</a></div>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-26631536536731653812023-02-25T22:40:00.033+00:002023-07-30T12:15:21.531+01:00The Death Of The Author (In Triplicate)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RmDqknEp870bN8A6Omy_tOZQpLxJCytLyFJCOXrLMgdFaycfddkhpa8BRdACdAawPQdhp7Yb9KIcJ0tJdygICL0LCG9aVUCVCVbL4WW2P-PD_R7AbWMteFjUDwouuCI5DFBwTyYeKS9MS8dRis8fSMo9lIA8oT88bgS9HBOuiB5PWQeGHl3Ch7aq/s3072/100_0849.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1728" data-original-width="3072" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RmDqknEp870bN8A6Omy_tOZQpLxJCytLyFJCOXrLMgdFaycfddkhpa8BRdACdAawPQdhp7Yb9KIcJ0tJdygICL0LCG9aVUCVCVbL4WW2P-PD_R7AbWMteFjUDwouuCI5DFBwTyYeKS9MS8dRis8fSMo9lIA8oT88bgS9HBOuiB5PWQeGHl3Ch7aq/w411-h231/100_0849.JPG" width="411" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My new novel "The Death Of The Author (In Triplicate) is out now <a href="https://coronasamizdat.com/index.php?id_product=89&rewrite=the-death-of-the-author-in-triplicate-marc-nash&controller=product" target="_blank">direct from the publishers</a> Corona\Samizdat.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It's a novel in 3 parts, with a Russian Dolls set of authors responsible for the production of the previous part. Part one is a police procedural/mystery thriller. A Senior Investigations Officer is on the way to a fresh murder and is having a crisis of faith as he questions both the nature of justice and the role material evidence plays in it. Part 2 is a heated dialogue between a widow and a literary agent as they argue over who should own an unfinished manuscript of the widow's late author husband, a battle for the memory and soul of the dead man. Part 3 sees an author having just completed his novel, tidying away all his noted stuck on the wall and clearing up his desk, as his thoughts turn towards the marketing of his book and trying to anticipate the response of critics and interview questions he'll likely be asked. As he determines not to reveal the magic behind being a creative person, the very mundane nature of sitting in a room typing on a keyboard betrays his intention and serves to demystify the mystery of thriller writing. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I call it a novel of crime scene reconstruction and a literary scene deconstruction. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Here are 3 short videos discussing some of the key themes. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbdzjOIHC4bTVW3cgQbantUqWBEype4hwwXQfATd89GNLNVhg5SmTAjh9byt3jqn-eeAvfn7qM1D6c37BkVWObWBuyczD9niKzddBrxktKETT5R-Us0-WrrZbYC7UfxXfczp_l0DKZjUQfNg_-evgDA1TiNsC1FMfkDTmgTO6Bmcq6irwlUojspZC/s304/Lady%20Justice.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="166" data-original-width="304" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbdzjOIHC4bTVW3cgQbantUqWBEype4hwwXQfATd89GNLNVhg5SmTAjh9byt3jqn-eeAvfn7qM1D6c37BkVWObWBuyczD9niKzddBrxktKETT5R-Us0-WrrZbYC7UfxXfczp_l0DKZjUQfNg_-evgDA1TiNsC1FMfkDTmgTO6Bmcq6irwlUojspZC/s1600/Lady%20Justice.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Justice is an abstract concept that doesn't exist anywhere else in Nature. It is codified in written laws and cases of infractions of those laws are tried on the basis of material witnesses and material evidence, which represent an entirely different register of language from an abstract concept.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vRKerZPcaDk" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDLA-FSiXFTZZ5OUZo3kYym7Sg6_2Uri_dHM1IyBosT6cz3T4tTqiaActfAbTtaKlmWkrnGkZgvWXy4fD6jKjvoXbgvjklSS5LY8jsB9U6S-PODwC83KUbZufK8SQqz6ETYA6mcUcwrOduNeFYsCc3LASq9Me_Ezh3IFkdQmoups8fVzXfM29HYH_q/s225/Evidence%20Bag.jpg" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDLA-FSiXFTZZ5OUZo3kYym7Sg6_2Uri_dHM1IyBosT6cz3T4tTqiaActfAbTtaKlmWkrnGkZgvWXy4fD6jKjvoXbgvjklSS5LY8jsB9U6S-PODwC83KUbZufK8SQqz6ETYA6mcUcwrOduNeFYsCc3LASq9Me_Ezh3IFkdQmoups8fVzXfM29HYH_q/s1600/Evidence%20Bag.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div>The relationship of abs<span style="font-family: inherit;">tract jus</span>tice to material evidence underpinning it, is resonant of the age old phenomenological inquiry into the nature of reality: the materialist versus idealist debate. <span style="background-color: white; color: #0d0d0d; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Is there a single, verifiable objective reality rooted in matter, or is everything ultimately determined by our language, naming and idea of things? In the novel, the Senior Investigation officer is having a crisis of faith in accepting the rules of evidence as being sufficient to prove anything. </span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #0d0d0d; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8AlGv-HZnJA" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoXKRy_zGS-EO0YleNeDDq84nF6uLULxLHbX63baxUvXnD0qgRy1XdzlySanWfViYj-Lk-sa9iPJBOFpQ3GhPsxOQMSnPD4-raNDret-pRTiubOVX74lbzB2L41uso5wI0IqDeD8oqOT_eLOOIeNpJbXj4t5mtXYWxxHQ3ufTOyhNNYtMopc23WrF2/s269/Russian%20Dolls.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="187" data-original-width="269" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoXKRy_zGS-EO0YleNeDDq84nF6uLULxLHbX63baxUvXnD0qgRy1XdzlySanWfViYj-Lk-sa9iPJBOFpQ3GhPsxOQMSnPD4-raNDret-pRTiubOVX74lbzB2L41uso5wI0IqDeD8oqOT_eLOOIeNpJbXj4t5mtXYWxxHQ3ufTOyhNNYtMopc23WrF2/s1600/Russian%20Dolls.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">The <span style="background-color: white; color: #0d0d0d; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">third and final section of the novel, is through the eyes of a third person author who has just completed writing his book and is thinking about its critical reception and the likely interview questions he will be asked about the process of writing it. Behind his grappling with these questions and revealing his own thoughts, lies the true first person author, that being Marc Nash who wrote part three as well as parts one and two and the tension between the truth of the author in part three with Nash's own personal truth. </span></span></div><div><span style="color: #0d0d0d;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #0d0d0d;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8SWO0MfMp9I" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Author reading from the <a href=" https://youtu.be/xMEXzi__dro" target="_blank">opening of the book</a>. </b></div><div><br /></div><div>Here are some quotes from the book.</div><div><br /></div><div>Part 1: The Senior Detective is having a crisis of faith...</div><div><br /></div><div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0juUtD1ui18PzoEZ2SPzglK_cJiwZU8Lb8ZhthY1DvczguELp6itaQncQU9sOnzwsarzmZCz8Itz4XZ23mtRL9t_YHOFxb8is3hbuIwcY7Xww4TpHjPYgpKOBf8i6551rKTHAsZFZMzYhuBJlySsvmb_gD4UaL0Yj4YMNOs083rLMqb2MnuDcoywv/s1600/Opening.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0juUtD1ui18PzoEZ2SPzglK_cJiwZU8Lb8ZhthY1DvczguELp6itaQncQU9sOnzwsarzmZCz8Itz4XZ23mtRL9t_YHOFxb8is3hbuIwcY7Xww4TpHjPYgpKOBf8i6551rKTHAsZFZMzYhuBJlySsvmb_gD4UaL0Yj4YMNOs083rLMqb2MnuDcoywv/w501-h207/Opening.png" width="501" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="S1PPyQ"><blockquote><b>"Like the 2011 riots, using Blackberries in order to organise riots for looting Blackberries. Man, we had both our hands and testicles tied behind our backs for that infantifada. Even so, we did secure our dreary, desultory requital sure enough. Months spent scanning faces on surveillance footage from the shops they hadn’t pillaged, plus more numbskullery advertising their ill-gotten gains on social media. Our techies palpating facial recognition software while we, the ones who had formed the anaemic thin blue arterial lines on the night, twiddle our singed fingers, as they swipe right on Match-dot-Con. We took the streets back, sat there behind our desks. The thin end of the fibre optic wedge, where we are adjuncts, mere auxiliaries of technology".</b></blockquote><p> </p><blockquote><b>“When is a gun not a gun? When it’s a replica. But if a replica is pointed at a human target in a hold-up, then does it not operate with the exact same ramification of a gun? And further, when that replica has been retooled to make it functional, then it’s no longer pseudo, mock, nor a simulacrum, (all words I’ve heard defence QCs {pseudo, mock, or simulacra human beings} use in court), since now it actually fires bullets & can draw blood. Apparently, you can even manufacture one on a 3-D printer. Oh Mercy Mercy Me as Marvin used to sing. And that poor beautiful bastard was shot to death too. On April Fool’s Day, in the year of Orwell’s “1984”. Can there have been a more ill-omened date on which to die?” </b></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4F7M57uDGN3VTxwmL40YKHU-lzWE2F-Qrx_wZecX0nL51pJDYZ2I4PyKZF9q09DYZv2qIwMzeV_cqTUehlWO0F8gN-kRVrP3xImw---u6ZvDPkFmIWIJrIAWJNxsq5qZBBhdODZeQtUH8iWWjsoyz0RxMebBknfOjMydvHiv7x78VUVXlu2C-kBrk/s1600/Mannequin.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4F7M57uDGN3VTxwmL40YKHU-lzWE2F-Qrx_wZecX0nL51pJDYZ2I4PyKZF9q09DYZv2qIwMzeV_cqTUehlWO0F8gN-kRVrP3xImw---u6ZvDPkFmIWIJrIAWJNxsq5qZBBhdODZeQtUH8iWWjsoyz0RxMebBknfOjMydvHiv7x78VUVXlu2C-kBrk/w388-h228/Mannequin.png" width="388" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="S1PPyQ white-space-prewrap" style="color: #c1ff72;"></span><p><span class="S1PPyQ"><b></b></span></p><blockquote><b><span class="S1PPyQ">“Forensics, I have come to realise, is phenomenology writ large. Or microscopically small as is more often the case. I do not instinctively know what looks out of place. Any objects in front of me could bear significance. Initially I have to make myself take notice of them all and not filter a single one out as quotidian, neutral and innocent. I have to crowbar into my consciousness, an awareness of everything that populates a scene.</span><span class="S1PPyQ white-space-prewrap"> </span><span class="S1PPyQ">A sort of mental cubism, as I plot the lie and locus of everything simultaneously. This is a field through and through, yet with most things remaining unintegrated with one another. This is not a web of connection of objects.</span> </b></blockquote><p><br /></p><p>Part 3: Someone seemingly having a better day is the author who has just completed his novel.</p><p><br /></p><p><b></b></p><blockquote><b>"He reached for the wire mesh bin beneath the desk. It was empty. His wife must have emptied it. How she would have honourably separated out the recyclables, the coke cans and half-measure spirit bottles, from the lolly sticks and cigarette stubs. Anything that basically had made an appearance on the traffic calming roundabout scene, first made their bow in his litter bin. All writers adopted the methods of Kaiser Söze. Whether they cared to admit it or not." </b></blockquote><p><b><br /></b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbdNJfmvmoo6htzwLvDMoDNrSZ4C76UG7Xe5vaKpe55mCO9RPX8bynYv7ogDb9i9wwhBE9_3nSRBRGLfBcxBaVQ3NHgKXbhyZXBq8Lmo6HGUhgvf-L2iapg0zLep1wOTuvwD6MPIug5rBD4vKw1CTmaI1oKBNVrxdtUTbe9xnw5HjVS6jCVJQcjjkI/s1600/Readers%20Critics.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbdNJfmvmoo6htzwLvDMoDNrSZ4C76UG7Xe5vaKpe55mCO9RPX8bynYv7ogDb9i9wwhBE9_3nSRBRGLfBcxBaVQ3NHgKXbhyZXBq8Lmo6HGUhgvf-L2iapg0zLep1wOTuvwD6MPIug5rBD4vKw1CTmaI1oKBNVrxdtUTbe9xnw5HjVS6jCVJQcjjkI/s320/Readers%20Critics.png" width="320" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><span class="S1PPyQ"><blockquote>"Oh god, there was also the prospect of having to get active on his social media accounts once again. Bad enough trying to compose a two hundred word blurb. On Twitter he had just two hundred and eighty characters. With spaces. On Instagram he had to make it so that someone viewing it on their phone, wouldn’t be obliged to scroll down and risk contracting repetitive strain injury. Unlike him, typing away eight hours a day for almost a year to deliver a novel. Wrists of steel. All the fun of the fair, of perpetual swiping right on an app, from shoes, through take-away dishes, to lust at first pixelated sight. How could any work of literature compete?"</blockquote><p><br /></p><span class="S1PPyQ white-space-prewrap" style="color: #c1ff72; font-weight: 400;"></span><p></p></span></b></div><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><span class="S1PPyQ"><p>He hadn’t experienced much in the way of transference with her, save for the transfer of funds from his bank account into hers. He could console himself that at least he had unsettled her momentarily from her upright (uptight?) poise, when he challenged her to specify how many sessions in her professional experience, it would take to cauterise, suture and heal the gash of a therapist-shaped hole in his life? Turned out to be a poor choice of imagery. Since the imagery of wounds had been invoked, Kafka was inevitably brought up. Which itself allowed her to sweep in with the whole Oedipal thing between Franz and his father and how he himself obviously related to that. By what means had he become embroiled in a literary discussion with his therapist? Since he received fees, (or more accurately expenses), for appearing on literary panels, he should be charging her for his expertise, for that session at least”. </p></span><span class="S1PPyQ white-space-prewrap"></span></b></div><b><br /></b></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOG2luq-Hcym1niOpXpujpIwk3Wcf0Q0JdJqswqQYunLIkBvlz8yYI1DTxtGpJtsHLZdVKSL-HwGAk8nJRLeFbHRIHZvxjTxcJgeugHUewYCP2l6zkxacagsxi2SkIII5aqu1qimQ-DgXL72IXoTjfjvjJ0fd6jt8W2DhpZ75aUFx2_jRrTpje3T8p/s1600/12.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOG2luq-Hcym1niOpXpujpIwk3Wcf0Q0JdJqswqQYunLIkBvlz8yYI1DTxtGpJtsHLZdVKSL-HwGAk8nJRLeFbHRIHZvxjTxcJgeugHUewYCP2l6zkxacagsxi2SkIII5aqu1qimQ-DgXL72IXoTjfjvjJ0fd6jt8W2DhpZ75aUFx2_jRrTpje3T8p/w356-h208/12.png" width="356" /></a></b></div><b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p> </p><blockquote><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8dl7WcJivi9-0VKyqzKQItFKnDSQ9qRJ4rhP2nidsp-l90WpAzV1yWki7xFut3LwbKTkad7mf5imLejXBYHQY88pE-bNxal4hKsQzoFXp4ekAWqxe2oyCVQ4zRbKKsYWjad5koYGlF4-HJxSAyL1ziiOs_DLEThxjx86nA8idqEI39OtFL3WHM3F/s314/Pop%20Gun.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="314" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8dl7WcJivi9-0VKyqzKQItFKnDSQ9qRJ4rhP2nidsp-l90WpAzV1yWki7xFut3LwbKTkad7mf5imLejXBYHQY88pE-bNxal4hKsQzoFXp4ekAWqxe2oyCVQ4zRbKKsYWjad5koYGlF4-HJxSAyL1ziiOs_DLEThxjx86nA8idqEI39OtFL3WHM3F/s1600/Pop%20Gun.png" width="314" /></a></div>No authors were harmed in the making of this book</span></blockquote><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx93EAOgqtMMKQqLnplsTftdB1go1d7FHA-86cDq0z_0AOYHMFPtalafMK3ofKz-0bKBd9sv_hNTeR9wQzzkw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">an endorsement from Kurt Vonnegut Jnr (puppet)</div><br /> <p></p><p></p></b><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p></span></div><div><span class="S1PPyQ"><b>Reviews:</b></span></div><div><span class="S1PPyQ"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span class="S1PPyQ"><blockquote><b><a href="https://neverimitate.wordpress.com/2023/03/24/book-review-death-of-the-author-in-triplicate/" target="_blank">Never Imitate Book Blog</a> "</b><span style="background-color: #f7f3ee; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">Murder, death and betrayal are mere ingredients around which Nash cooks his literary feast. The starter may appear to be a police procedural but this proves a red herring, an opening to something completely different."</span></blockquote><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ok2D1LGbeSA" target="_blank">Bob The Bookerer</a> video review (8mins 37 secs in)</p></span></div>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-57368540113843724992023-02-04T20:12:00.004+00:002023-02-05T00:16:47.567+00:00The Missing Link - Cartoon strip<p> What links billionaire space exploration vanity projects, with the desperate crossings of the English Channel in unsafe boats by desperate migrants? I think me and my illustrator <a href="https://www.instagram.com/wilbur_dawbarn/" target="_blank">Wilbur Dawbarn</a> may just have the answer... </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNvtrQ_P_mKj5Mu1RV_JZ1XvD-sTmdhjOLknPeEMskIUBYDpF_nmz-KAB8SdWmYau12QOYxu6oXGhmBmtE4YSKMoV99YCDd7g8yoxpAVeXPKaEyhfHo82udAaHOS05aMngDahM-ozQPPjC0CO9wHWg7FKDPgIzhh7MA2Cfv7D8fqNOuHnyBSL27lQ/s3496/nash-space1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3496" data-original-width="2480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNvtrQ_P_mKj5Mu1RV_JZ1XvD-sTmdhjOLknPeEMskIUBYDpF_nmz-KAB8SdWmYau12QOYxu6oXGhmBmtE4YSKMoV99YCDd7g8yoxpAVeXPKaEyhfHo82udAaHOS05aMngDahM-ozQPPjC0CO9wHWg7FKDPgIzhh7MA2Cfv7D8fqNOuHnyBSL27lQ/w556-h640/nash-space1.jpg" width="556" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWyGkQlnjHvnrEtvVj_ymTv1x2Vt5qInhWWsy-meAdaGz14JCabkHiD5jWGG0nkCmuaB_-aPrX4jBMFnrFZZMjByIYTn696o3XZTzbScnoX8Pm4yhxdDCMTfTG5a46pJDjn8YTFYkCKeLqmHdUUm-e2Ocm6Vbd3lRMtcmegDVHn7h0f_AfGVea2ju/s3496/nash-space2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3496" data-original-width="2480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWyGkQlnjHvnrEtvVj_ymTv1x2Vt5qInhWWsy-meAdaGz14JCabkHiD5jWGG0nkCmuaB_-aPrX4jBMFnrFZZMjByIYTn696o3XZTzbScnoX8Pm4yhxdDCMTfTG5a46pJDjn8YTFYkCKeLqmHdUUm-e2Ocm6Vbd3lRMtcmegDVHn7h0f_AfGVea2ju/w567-h640/nash-space2.jpg" width="567" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-55395107102818857252021-12-23T12:46:00.002+00:002021-12-23T12:46:54.852+00:00Rebutting the rising "We will all catch COVID" narrative<p>There is an increasing narrative that we will all inevitably contract some variant of COVID at some point and that we should all accept this fact and allow our government to get on with conducting business as normal and not have any further restrictions placed on our (economic) freedoms. </p><p>This is just herd immunity under another guise. It is immoral, pernicious and plain wrong. For the reasons I give in his video. </p><p>Stay safe and get boosted. </p><p><br /></p>
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ccqpdF_GaEI" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-3602263008666976512021-12-20T14:19:00.012+00:002022-01-11T12:37:14.033+00:00Ecological catastrophe, global pandemics, cyber-warfare, a satirical take<p> So in the light of my fury at Cop26, I drew up some ideas for cartoons and called on my old cartoonist collaborator <a href="https://wilburdawbarn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Wilbur Dawbarn</a> (we'd collaborated on a <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2017/02/fight-back-threat-of-donald-j-trump.html" target="_blank">series soon after Trump's inauguration</a>). </p><p><br /></p><p>This is what we came up with. It's what happens we you vote into power a bunch of middle-managers, who can only think in terms of economics, rather than the value of human life. Happy Christmas! </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi-VvO_tywDuQ3qyEQIROlo7bZKOlfPDACSqKUV3xZKTWx1RzGwptViTPhVdFza80xP77AI94Ytv3mBfI6vl5sQXSMhjgopob9W5ICv2sKK9rKWjbXho_Kue_-BGIWHQrc6QosVrB8A-Dx2iL6G-9R_cbbP6HdZURCgNp1Aq-nbV3m53kbIhuHx-wKq=s3496" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2480" data-original-width="3496" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi-VvO_tywDuQ3qyEQIROlo7bZKOlfPDACSqKUV3xZKTWx1RzGwptViTPhVdFza80xP77AI94Ytv3mBfI6vl5sQXSMhjgopob9W5ICv2sKK9rKWjbXho_Kue_-BGIWHQrc6QosVrB8A-Dx2iL6G-9R_cbbP6HdZURCgNp1Aq-nbV3m53kbIhuHx-wKq=w443-h314" width="443" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhO65MHqJDvLW1jYCmynvDHnkLaOQ-l46Eh0SU_-Pc5r4y-qi_b7NzBJdWMmsa6-LfZ4_O9sMKJS-pYnTTauRzJlE1z2zdmxKV7J_tlTIxDttR7W91TtjqA71air8WPGsW5Sb6C1YH657-kw8Sa_sW5sB3wJXST0AyQMuThpeNxw8_BrPk9qtGFeKID=s3496" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2480" data-original-width="3496" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhO65MHqJDvLW1jYCmynvDHnkLaOQ-l46Eh0SU_-Pc5r4y-qi_b7NzBJdWMmsa6-LfZ4_O9sMKJS-pYnTTauRzJlE1z2zdmxKV7J_tlTIxDttR7W91TtjqA71air8WPGsW5Sb6C1YH657-kw8Sa_sW5sB3wJXST0AyQMuThpeNxw8_BrPk9qtGFeKID=w413-h293" width="413" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgh12mepzHqIuKmloXPX8o3QPWPbv3w5klx35HesYW_U_OU8lCIz1FhrIY-6Y2KKvLeBGV2G-gdiNsl7n_a_VvJWUmTVuIEyvCKlUzQg00ZfqI3a8unAH4xMograuN1Wv0pQtP14fPyELjFqNGGEWU4o5A9rw7Ry499w6EYDOzVhRMRdqDhzRPwhdCu=s3496" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2480" data-original-width="3496" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgh12mepzHqIuKmloXPX8o3QPWPbv3w5klx35HesYW_U_OU8lCIz1FhrIY-6Y2KKvLeBGV2G-gdiNsl7n_a_VvJWUmTVuIEyvCKlUzQg00ZfqI3a8unAH4xMograuN1Wv0pQtP14fPyELjFqNGGEWU4o5A9rw7Ry499w6EYDOzVhRMRdqDhzRPwhdCu=w387-h275" width="387" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHuTkwgfY0V9PcMl4Hgp5vHdbHf8GiyJ7Vl57GFrWfKAYWc3WtacGo3ybwrukXaBmIa4dW6XDIrpjYXZTweDxHDfDNtNawccGQkD9xDYQ4iydXj86x_P-Uw3zyUCw6wMX2LI8zs3-NBVdhXN1MXjEuKUmBH3dvBtNp3Grmo1pAw25oTgMRZ0cCkYXC=s3496" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2480" data-original-width="3496" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHuTkwgfY0V9PcMl4Hgp5vHdbHf8GiyJ7Vl57GFrWfKAYWc3WtacGo3ybwrukXaBmIa4dW6XDIrpjYXZTweDxHDfDNtNawccGQkD9xDYQ4iydXj86x_P-Uw3zyUCw6wMX2LI8zs3-NBVdhXN1MXjEuKUmBH3dvBtNp3Grmo1pAw25oTgMRZ0cCkYXC=w365-h259" width="365" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgc572Rbonojo1CYmqsxEmwXD5J-doUB_XhcSLWV8qjJExWNpYzgVYosL0AdnTrXttflEei8mv3YG_f8dCQsAgTdoszIN6lXO0wbQUi0hxno24Q6aHCHfptrUbaaa3W3MHbBH13ITMsZIW2d9QmAR5j_AjBttDbPW3ajVs2ScqBX1H-V9HdBFbflPnS=s3496" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2480" data-original-width="3496" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgc572Rbonojo1CYmqsxEmwXD5J-doUB_XhcSLWV8qjJExWNpYzgVYosL0AdnTrXttflEei8mv3YG_f8dCQsAgTdoszIN6lXO0wbQUi0hxno24Q6aHCHfptrUbaaa3W3MHbBH13ITMsZIW2d9QmAR5j_AjBttDbPW3ajVs2ScqBX1H-V9HdBFbflPnS=w348-h246" width="348" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFw3nlH7zxQqyE_tW4J7BoRyadz4ZbOVzG3pWjdQJrCgCQ8Z4x91lZ8mZMsq_u0DeYcrw6QlU-i96CDUhtATKjwy3TlL4MLBVqS_X921cOZdE9IT55uEqVz6j43qrttnYcGPHRxzKKyiztQgD9rhUcTxWR07BhF8RGaRwLdPenz6IqcsKrb2exUf1x=s3496" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2480" data-original-width="3496" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFw3nlH7zxQqyE_tW4J7BoRyadz4ZbOVzG3pWjdQJrCgCQ8Z4x91lZ8mZMsq_u0DeYcrw6QlU-i96CDUhtATKjwy3TlL4MLBVqS_X921cOZdE9IT55uEqVz6j43qrttnYcGPHRxzKKyiztQgD9rhUcTxWR07BhF8RGaRwLdPenz6IqcsKrb2exUf1x=w331-h235" width="331" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-32668427948091064662021-07-11T12:52:00.022+01:002021-10-17T12:00:13.289+01:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZkynXVO-wg1zY_bP2I_Oz1K2-jeaSZZuEoyqfaWPMRuu6-GeBkgwfmmcS5rpr8lyLnUNSS0BMF7o-xlZNFG8tZIx88Df4jZXNNd1KHm6t_1iKTcx7r0S3csOYXlUKRLRv9Ba2zhNmRA/s400/Cover+Small.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="261" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZkynXVO-wg1zY_bP2I_Oz1K2-jeaSZZuEoyqfaWPMRuu6-GeBkgwfmmcS5rpr8lyLnUNSS0BMF7o-xlZNFG8tZIx88Df4jZXNNd1KHm6t_1iKTcx7r0S3csOYXlUKRLRv9Ba2zhNmRA/s320/Cover+Small.jpg" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>On July 15th my new novel "Stories We Tell Our Children" is published by Lendal Press. A novel in 30 thematically linked short stories, which explore many different types of story and narrative that we offer our children in their early years. From the early picture books, through fairy tales to detective and science fiction, to non-literary narratives such as advertising, boy bands and fandom's social media, football, Punch and Judy, ballet and visual art, the novel examines what these narratives offer, how they are structured and whether they are healthy or not, in what is increasingly becoming a more complex world. </p><p><br /></p><p>REVIEWS:</p><p><a href="https://joyzine.org/2021/10/17/book-review-stories-we-tell-our-children-by-marc-nash/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">JoyZine</span></a> "<span style="background-color: white; color: #191919; font-family: Poppins, sans-serif; font-size: 18px;">The book has been written by an author who is intelligent, an acute observer of our society, well read and loves his art. Combined with the ability to make you smile and cringe on occasion, it’s a job well done."</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #191919; font-family: Poppins, sans-serif; font-size: 18px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #191919; font-family: Poppins, sans-serif;"><a href="https://neverimitate.wordpress.com/2021/09/06/book-review-stories-we-tell-our-children/" style="font-size: 18px;" target="_blank">Never Imitate</a><span style="font-size: medium;"> "</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The overarching theme may be the stories we tell our children and how these impact their development, but the tales also bring to light the stories we tell ourselves."</span></span></p><p>*</p><p><br /></p><p>There are quote cards with short examples from the book <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2021/06/some-short-samples-from-my-upcoming.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</p><p><br /></p><p>The video below is a reading from one of the chapters "Father Trismus"</p><p><br /></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MwB8YDGXWoU" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>The video below is a short discussion about how rich children's imaginations are and how information given to them in good faith, they can run with and take to damaging extremes and which formed the basis for the story "Father Trismus". </div><div><br /></div>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NJhPak_2Qbo" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>The video below examines why story plays such a central role in all our lives and the two after it talk about the dangers of too much story and how there is a need for new narrative structures and new stories, for the sake of our planet.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cL8hkJgGjCU" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QEmWAt2mYmo" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
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<div><br /></div><div>The little white lies we carry on as traditions, such as Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, are developmental stages from which the child will eventually pierce the illusion and the joyous mutual conspiracy will fall by the wayside. But what happens when that isn't the case with a white lie, or if a child plays it to their advantage against the parents? </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PGmtAQdMEFQ" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(3, 3, 3); background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #030303; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Language is a key component of children's play. They voice dolls, action men, football games and the like. But adults lose this sense of story, because their play takes much more rigid lines, such as competitiveness in sports, or the art of creation where the art form is the narrative.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(3, 3, 3); background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #030303; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(3, 3, 3); background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #030303; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">I talk about retaining the playfulness of language in "Stories We Tell Our Children" and how writing itself can be playful simply through language.</span></p></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/a6pANbhrA9U" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(3, 3, 3); background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #030303; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">When you talk about the constituent elements of a novel, one that is often left out of discussion is that of time. Time is multi-faceted in novels, working in three different ways and I talk about these different applications<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(3, 3, 3); background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #030303; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(3, 3, 3); background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #030303; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></p></div>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/b6PV8nAsaRM" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><b>The novel is available from all good UK outlets, but I would encourage you to support local and independent bookshops to help them recover from the pandemic by ordering </b><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/5179795275664264195/3266842794809106466#"><span class="s2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-kerning: none;"><b>from here</b></span></a><b> if you can't get to those shops in person. </b></span></p></div>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-50016601406133969202021-07-08T13:49:00.012+01:002021-07-19T16:10:33.923+01:00Literary Lacrosse Schtick 2 - A Bookish Quiz<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl3p0vRGMrji5Kco79v9R5plerjTf-BzSc7IOF7ckLKdzSq4mIjcj7udwAXClVmqfk6i4pL2Bw_kOdTm4rj1Ep5-SZFDj7wYpS0eRBAuK1QHDYULfNlxPzgy2AFHxf3u6jdn3Aj6R5usA/s237/images.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="237" data-original-width="213" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl3p0vRGMrji5Kco79v9R5plerjTf-BzSc7IOF7ckLKdzSq4mIjcj7udwAXClVmqfk6i4pL2Bw_kOdTm4rj1Ep5-SZFDj7wYpS0eRBAuK1QHDYULfNlxPzgy2AFHxf3u6jdn3Aj6R5usA/w208-h237/images.png" width="208" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDJUS0AKIjkYx0eX-3uKmx5KYxwbPanyyrzvxcnJOeBSOlZth-luQcqOhxyPuk0qm7MJO4FGSTpMsRg6wTR41TNC67eGbGSnJqXtqjMRcZraIg4E8IHyMi0DiRkJJLAJuQNcUcslnYo8/s287/download.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="287" data-original-width="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDJUS0AKIjkYx0eX-3uKmx5KYxwbPanyyrzvxcnJOeBSOlZth-luQcqOhxyPuk0qm7MJO4FGSTpMsRg6wTR41TNC67eGbGSnJqXtqjMRcZraIg4E8IHyMi0DiRkJJLAJuQNcUcslnYo8/s0/download.png" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>So in 2018 for the publication of my previous novel, I put up a cryptic clue literary quiz where all the answers were book titles. You can view it <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2017/08/literary-lacrosse-stick-quiz.html" target="_blank">here</a> and the answers <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2017/08/literary-lacrosse-stick-literary-quiz.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</p><p><br /></p><p>So with a <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2021/06/cover-reveal.html" target="_blank">new book</a> out in exactly a week's time, the quiz is back too with a whole bunch of new clues. The answers can be viewed <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kAloiUhUKY&t=2s&ab_channel=MarcNash" target="_blank">here</a></p><p>An example of how the quiz works. I give the year of publication and the country of the author and then a cryptic clue which in true crossword style, is a play on the words of the book's title. So for example, after giving you the year ad country, the clue might be UNADORNED NOONTIME REPAST. For which the answer is William Burroughs' "Naked Lunch"</p><p><br /></p><p>Enjoy and feel free to post your total in the comments. Try and avoid posting the answers.</p><p><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">1) UK 2018 </span>THE GUY WHO MAKES BELFAST DOORSTOP DELIVERIES?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">2)</span> <span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">US 2017</span> POTUS 16’S BUDDHIST SOUL SEARCHING?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">3) US 2011</span> DISPOSITION OF AWE</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">4) UK 1928 </span>BIOGRAPHY OF DISNEY WORLD?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">5) Mexico 2017 </span>SALT & PEPPER TROPICAL STORM?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">6) US 2020 </span>BETWEEN SOHO AND THE THEATRELAND OF THE MIND</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">7) US 1993 </span>A FISTFUL OF CHASTE SELF-IMMOLATORS</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">8) S.Africa</span> 2003 ELVIS’ SOUTH AFRICAN AUNT?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">9) UK 2006</span> CONSTANTINOPLE’S ILLEGITIMACY?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">10) US 2020</span> METEOROLOGY</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">11) UK 1995</span> PLANETARY GIRDLES MADE OF ICE AND ROCK</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">12) Australia 2018 </span>JUVENILE CONSUMES ALL THE MILKY WAYS IN EXISTENCE</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">13) US 2000<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span>RESIDENTIAL FOLIAGE</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">14) UK/ Ireland 2016 </span>SUBJACENT NEIGHBOURS OF THE MORAVIANS?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">15) Japan 1994</span> COPPER MNEMONICS?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">16) UK 2020 </span>THOMAS MORE’S HOME ADDRESS?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">17) UK 2020 </span>LEXICON FOR A PERJURER?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">18) Chile 2014 </span>ANSWER A, B, C, OR D</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">19) US 1996 </span>THE JOKE’S ON YOU IN PERPETUITY</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">20) UK 1962</span> 25 CARAT MOLESKIN?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">21) UK 2020 </span>PETTY ABRASION?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">22) US 1992 </span>SECOND GENERATION DIVINE OFFSPRING?<span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">23) France 2015 </span>SEPTIMAL FACULTY OF FRENCH, OR LATIN, OR ENGLISH OR DANISH…<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">24) Palestine 2017 <span class="s2" style="font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">LESSER MINUTIA?</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">25) UK/India 2019</span> BEAUTIFUL CORPSES?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">26) Mexico/US 2013 </span>FIRST PERSON CHRONICLE OF DENTITION?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">27) <span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">US 2011 </span>SENDING THE BOYS ROUND?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">28) <span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">France 2018 </span>NOCTURNAL SANGUINARY SHADE</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">29) US 2020 </span>OCTO-GRANARY?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">30) UK/Ireland 2020 <span class="s2" style="font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">SIDEREAL TOW</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">31) UK 2015 </span>COMPLETELY SURROUNDED BY A SEA OF GLOSSY FABRIC?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">32) UK 2020 </span>EINSTEIN’S DEVOTED METHOD?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">33) US 2020 <span class="s2" style="font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">SSSSH!</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">34) Germany 2015 </span>THE THREE OF THEM ARE NO LONGER HERE, THOUGH YOU MIGHT STILL CATCH</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> THE LAST ONE</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">35) US 2012 </span>SHADY MAN’S NYCHTHEMERON TOME BOUTIQUE</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-85779961383393764262021-06-24T14:02:00.001+01:002021-07-08T13:31:05.492+01:00<p><b>Some short samples from my upcoming novel "Stories We Tell our Children" published July 15th. It's a novel told through short stories and explores the many different types of narrative that our children are exposed to in their development, both those in books, but also those non-literary narratives such as advertising, Punch and Judy and unspoken parental aspirations. </b></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8JPNcvzWDfvxNW5sJ-UBgSZ3LFiLJpSKKO0ABxCeDBDvd_rQVofGUfzlhgPJau0aIaB39NjJHBJUPByN0L-GxkNK8vTT-EuV1jf70kQzTfi1E8Kqv_urpCCLqflRPWf4PKUOYeb7sAM/s1024/Mummer.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="1024" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8JPNcvzWDfvxNW5sJ-UBgSZ3LFiLJpSKKO0ABxCeDBDvd_rQVofGUfzlhgPJau0aIaB39NjJHBJUPByN0L-GxkNK8vTT-EuV1jf70kQzTfi1E8Kqv_urpCCLqflRPWf4PKUOYeb7sAM/w654-h328/Mummer.png" width="654" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkV2akt9vCrhfsJg7G32Ev7M9UABpOCGog5UPxIHnlC-GfOFNsEq0BjMXwrAH34aNN198LETag-TRNkijMPNumJRTqfQ6pWnWvoQQ6zObV_OjBPt30qy5b5yrVpwO8gqJrOgLQJ37eFOM/s1024/Twins.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="1024" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkV2akt9vCrhfsJg7G32Ev7M9UABpOCGog5UPxIHnlC-GfOFNsEq0BjMXwrAH34aNN198LETag-TRNkijMPNumJRTqfQ6pWnWvoQQ6zObV_OjBPt30qy5b5yrVpwO8gqJrOgLQJ37eFOM/w547-h275/Twins.png" width="547" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="p1" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">You can pre-order my new novel "Stories We Tell Our Children" (also available for international shipping) from here <a href="https://uk.bookshop.org/books/stories-we-tell-our-children/9781912436941">https://uk.bookshop.org/books/stories-we-tell-our-children/9781912436941</a><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZkynXVO-wg1zY_bP2I_Oz1K2-jeaSZZuEoyqfaWPMRuu6-GeBkgwfmmcS5rpr8lyLnUNSS0BMF7o-xlZNFG8tZIx88Df4jZXNNd1KHm6t_1iKTcx7r0S3csOYXlUKRLRv9Ba2zhNmRA/s400/Cover+Small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="261" height="447" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZkynXVO-wg1zY_bP2I_Oz1K2-jeaSZZuEoyqfaWPMRuu6-GeBkgwfmmcS5rpr8lyLnUNSS0BMF7o-xlZNFG8tZIx88Df4jZXNNd1KHm6t_1iKTcx7r0S3csOYXlUKRLRv9Ba2zhNmRA/w322-h447/Cover+Small.jpg" width="322" /></a></div><br /><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span><p></p>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-49498396586641382752021-06-24T13:42:00.000+01:002021-06-24T13:42:16.181+01:00The Rather Strange Genesis Of My New Novel<p>I talk about the rather strange origins of my upcoming new novel "Stories We Tell Our Children" published by Lendal Press on July 15th.</p><p>Touching on partial writer's block, life-creativity balance and the role of careers' counselling, as well as how much of the book involved autobiographical material and how much was purely the work of the imagination.</p><p><br /></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/X5QJpVe11HM" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="p1" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">You can pre-order my new novel "Stories We Tell Our Children" (also available for international shipping) from here <a href="https://uk.bookshop.org/books/stories-we-tell-our-children/9781912436941">https://uk.bookshop.org/books/stories-we-tell-our-children/9781912436941</a> </span></p><p class="p1" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzCW46q37__s7a1TiVTHFwlyHcothJg5iE-1IKDauQC77AqdKIlGKmampiFqLRVKQPKUwP_k8k9iCHZdHDAThNTEwiEtQwGEVpgKRfa5zZRgbu2kzRnuT6rHXdgc61SaYdDvvb9_BUWJQ/s1280/Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="834" height="433" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzCW46q37__s7a1TiVTHFwlyHcothJg5iE-1IKDauQC77AqdKIlGKmampiFqLRVKQPKUwP_k8k9iCHZdHDAThNTEwiEtQwGEVpgKRfa5zZRgbu2kzRnuT6rHXdgc61SaYdDvvb9_BUWJQ/w283-h433/Cover.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><br /><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">The story of the cover <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2021/06/cover-reveal.html">https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2021/06/cover-reveal.html</a></span></p></div>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-12684151316198779632021-06-08T13:21:00.036+01:002021-06-23T09:08:32.375+01:00Cover reveal<p> My new novel "Stories We Tell Our Children" is published on July 15th. <span style="color: black;">Here's a short video</span> revealing the cover and talking about where the concept for it emerged from.</p><div><br /></div><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span color="rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588235294118)"><br /></span></span></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7Roi0p7-4gI" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span color="rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588235294118)" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px;">You can pre-order my new novel "Stories We Tell Our Children" (also available for international shipping) from </span><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px;"><a href="https://uk.bookshop.org/books/stories-we-tell-our-children/9781912436941" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><span color="rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588235294118)" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px;"> </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjephyphenhyphen3gCIDrVAAu6bP9pQcUgHh481s8GQ4YHker8hy9m2yDnVLDRtcI1s_R-OkQdYMlN3WkzA4_blPKg17vm7qx9dTwTKpXrO2l-9QLfgxVKOmQYfO7LqFyfwZXWLU88YCLpkb8fdJybU/s1280/Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="834" height="455" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjephyphenhyphen3gCIDrVAAu6bP9pQcUgHh481s8GQ4YHker8hy9m2yDnVLDRtcI1s_R-OkQdYMlN3WkzA4_blPKg17vm7qx9dTwTKpXrO2l-9QLfgxVKOmQYfO7LqFyfwZXWLU88YCLpkb8fdJybU/w297-h455/Cover.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-37641442792074138782021-04-11T13:00:00.001+01:002021-04-11T13:00:02.731+01:00I Have A New Animal Familiar<p>Six months before I was born, my parents bought themselves a cat. He was an ordinary black, non-pedigree moggy and went on to live to the ripe old age of 23. Once I was moved out of a cot and into my bed, that cat slept on my bed every night until his death, even when I was no longer living at home having gone to university. </p><p><br /></p><p>He was my animal familiar. Not in terms of he and I collaborating in performing black or white magic, just that we communed with one another and had a deep bond. After he died, I never had such a connection with any other animal, but I did mentally opt for new spirit animals. And here is where I would describe it as performing magic, in the similar manner to the Tarot or I-Ching. Not in any sense of <i>supernatural</i> divination; rather you double down, consider the questions you bring to the table and with the aides memoire prompted by the yarrow stalks or cards, you perform some self-divination and gain some self-insights around the questions you were asking. </p><p><br /></p><p>So when I say my adopted spirit totems of the tarantula and the vulture, it is purely in this theoretical way rather than that I had with my black cat. While I have stared into the black, black void of a vulture's eyes at a zoo, I certainly wouldn't want either creature perched on my bed while I lay asleep. Both animals served as aides de memoire. Aspects of their physical being and behaviour, allow me to conceptualise and relate back to things about life. I have written flash fiction stories about both, <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2010/08/eight-legged-army-friday-flash.html" target="_blank">"Eight-Legged Amy"</a> (tarantula), <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2009/11/rick-pickings-flash-fiction.html" target="_blank">"Rich Pickings"</a> and <a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2013/09/cop-aesthetic-sunday-sample-flash-story.html" target="_blank">"Cop Aesthetic"</a> (both vultures), about life, death, rebirth, criminality and war. </p><p><br /></p><p>But move over guys, a new familiar is in town. Or rather the oceans. For I have become infatuated with jellyfish. One of the oldest species in the history of the planet, these remarkable beasts have a whole host of associations and images that they conjure up. Firstly there is the rather unique case of the </p><h1 class="firstHeading" id="firstHeading" style="border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(162, 169, 177); font-family: "Linux Libertine", Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 1.8em; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.3; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; overflow: visible; padding: 0px;"><i>Turritopsis dohrnii <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKl8yECv4B1CbBFr__vJftIlRW234pTOhbOOmL11POVmUlSGTT50_Z3ko-g_p6JI6IMWQHUMc2r8BAxMXTnc0R75medQpNIVmahXX_RvU9tTz1EMr7TX7hXQP_fzkh16MNxLV1COl3rY/s248/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="248" data-original-width="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKl8yECv4B1CbBFr__vJftIlRW234pTOhbOOmL11POVmUlSGTT50_Z3ko-g_p6JI6IMWQHUMc2r8BAxMXTnc0R75medQpNIVmahXX_RvU9tTz1EMr7TX7hXQP_fzkh16MNxLV1COl3rY/s0/download.jpg" /></a></div><br /></i></h1><div>which has the ability to revert from mature adult stage (the medusa) back to its previous stage of the polyp when threatened or in environmental difficulty. This lends us a tantalising glimpse into the possibility of immortality, for as long as it stays in this polyp state, it will not die unless predated upon. To my mind, this argues against the unidirectionality of time and against entropy which underpins it. The erosion of cliffs is taken as proof that time can only flow forwards, since the cliffs cannot reclaim their lost eroded matter. This humble little jellyfish begs to differ. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then we have the striking case of the box jellyfish. Like all jellyfish it has no centralised brain as we do, and therefore no visual cortex. And yet this jelly has four eyes, one on each corner of its box. And these eyes can at least respond to light and help the jellyfish orient its swimming. To me this offers a fascinating glimpse into how single-cell organisms developed into multi-cellular ones and the complexity of sense perception organs like the human eye; which came first the eye or the visual cortex? The box jelly suggests it was the clumping together of cells into an eye and that only later did it coalesce into forging with part of the brain to render a more sophisticated visual apparatus. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALTMl07iKh1bOXfVQWgzi_lhw-OCOalYVwYbHDXb6UWHHuYHYMqRO5cB_aHxi_azPtyiJehdKyp1mBmAeveY0RGP5qPgmBT7nY0vnHBdlM84u-NNelSMwQCCi0JHdg7c2RvYExDN47DQ/s300/download-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALTMl07iKh1bOXfVQWgzi_lhw-OCOalYVwYbHDXb6UWHHuYHYMqRO5cB_aHxi_azPtyiJehdKyp1mBmAeveY0RGP5qPgmBT7nY0vnHBdlM84u-NNelSMwQCCi0JHdg7c2RvYExDN47DQ/s0/download-1.jpg" /></a></div><br /></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Well may people view these creatures as nightmarish and alien, but here's a reason why we all may need to become more familiar with them. As zones of our oceans become arid and dead due to pollution, the jellyfish move into colonise them, because while their predators vacate, the jellies can survive in relatively low-oxidated waters and are agglomerating into huge swarms. The environmental issues are both illustrated by the very thriving of the jellies and further exacerbated by the damage they wreak in such huge hosts. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is so much more still to explore about this creature, part animal, part plant. Welcome to my new animal familiar. And no, I would never get in the water with one. </div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-76333840885079460652021-01-11T11:39:00.002+00:002021-01-11T12:16:26.263+00:00En Avant Garde - Flash Fiction<p> <span> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hollywood had fallen as easily as a stage flat. Militias from Idaho and Montana were dispatched to de-core the Big Apple and root out every last maggot. The President was equivocal over assailing Wall Street, but they had carte blanche on deviant lawyers, journalists and artists housed in Gotham. They were also encouraged to hunt down radical Islamic terrorists who were assumed to be embedded there.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The campaign started with simultaneous assaults on MOMA and the Guggenheim. Sculptures were attacked with chisels, mysteriously transformed into harmless palette knives on first contact. Tins of house paint were hurled against paintings mounted on the walls, but some inherent shaman-artistic force bunched the paint splashes like Hokusai waves, before sending them slithering to the concrete floor, whereupon they proceeded to reproduce a variety of Jackson Pollock canvases. The only blow these crack squads landed was successfully shooting up several Jasper Johns’ <i><a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Jasper+Johns%27+target&sxsrf=ALeKk02ITksVx0rXo3nW208qvKXc94NpRw:1610363945297&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjc_quX4ZPuAhVJxIUKHc5LDTAQ_AUoAXoECAsQAw&biw=1232&bih=666" target="_blank">Target</a></i> paintings, scoring perfect bulls’ eyes. Museum curators felt this added to the paintings’ interactive spirit of the familiar, though art critics felt it merely exhibited the AltRight’s two-dimensional literalism. The discourse raged on, with this first wave of shock corps oblivious to their part in the colloquy. An Islamic Anti-Blasphemy squad came across them at the upper echelons of the Guggenheim, launched a copy of their <i>Taliban and ISIS Guide To Perfidious Art</i> into the gallery they occupied and then fled. The manual had just a lone page, a photograph of a stick of dynamite. The <i>Breitbart</i> Division mined the top story, but their hoped for Helter Skelter failed to materialise. Instead they were thrown off balance and tumbled all the way down the Guggenheim’s spiral incline and were bounced out by their own philistine perspective, followed by all the creative energy their blast had liberated from behind glass. </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They took their war to the streets, but New York’s awakened soul defied them at every turn. Broadway turned <i><a href="https://www.moma.org/collection/works/78682" target="_blank">Boogie-Woogie</a></i> and seethed and pulsed with animated light and color that refused to offer itself up for landmarks by which the militias could orient themselves. Other Mondrianic effects warped and disarrayed the grid pattern, so plunging the troops into anomic motion homesickness. The mid-Westerners didn’t trust the solidity of Joseph Stella’s <i><a href="https://whitney.org/collection/works/2968" target="_blank">Brooklyn Bridge</a></i>, so Brooklyn remained unmolested for now. When Koons' <a href="http://www.jeffkoons.com/artwork/popeye-stainless/popeye" target="_blank">creations</a> walked the streets, these supermen thought them to be real cartoon characters and halted their operations to sit down and enjoy their progress, reliving their own bucolic childhoods. The sexualised scents emanating from the O’Keefean <a href="https://www.georgiaokeeffe.net/paintings.jsp" target="_blank">blooms</a> that bedecked New York’s flowerboxes, made them sick just below their paunches and scores fell away invalided from the campaign with inexplicable erections. Many saluted Lichtenstein’s <i><a href="https://www.sothebys.com/en/buy/auction/2020/dear-keith-works-from-the-personal-collection-of-keith-haring/roy-lichtenstein-forms-in-space" target="_blank">Flag</a></i> and were frozen in patriotic Old Glory immobility. KKK Quartermasters tried to secure rations from <i><a href="https://www.moma.org/learn/moma_learning/andy-warhol-campbells-soup-cans-1962/" target="_blank">One Hundred Cans</a></i>, but they stubbornly refused to multiply in order to feed the five thousand. The image of Leutze’s <i><a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/11417" target="_blank">Washington Crossing The Delaware</a></i> employed for their banners, mysteriously transformed in NYC’s rarefied air into Colescott’s <a href="http://figuringhistory.site.seattleartmuseum.org/robert-colescott/george-washington-carver-crossing-delaware-page-american-history-textbook/" target="_blank">version</a>, which saw them jumping up and down on their own cloth and setting fire to it, the only art they managed to burn throughout the whole campaign. Finally, a man in leathers was crouched crosstown, with a <a href="http://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/254562/robert-mapplethorpe-self-portrait-nyc-american-1978/" target="_blank">whip</a> protruding from his rectum, at which point an Islamic terrorist cell fled for their lives at this visitation by Shaytan himself. </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The Young British Artists pledged their support for their fellow American BoHos. But no matter how exhausted the New York resistance were, none could bring themselves to resort to Tracey Emin’s donated bed for rest and recuperation. While Damien Hirst’s leering jewelled skulls were felt to be a hex, though the diamonds proved useful in supplementing their lasers and machine<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;">tool production in the fight against the Übermensch. Hirst’s dead shark was wheeled into a New York thoroughfare, its case opened up, but the formaldehyde just pooled in the gutter before</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">disappearing down the sewers, while the fish itself lay forlornly in the street holding up traffic, though no one considered this the least bit surreal, nor worthy of comment. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The Neo-Nazis retreated from Manhattan, but they had successfully liberated Marsden Hartley’s <i><a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/488486" target="_blank">Portrait Of a German Officer</a> </i>and managing to overcome their own vertiginous revulsion at its bewildering Cubism, at least they could center themselves in the insignia of the German army at its heart. Thus they regathered themselves to storm Brooklyn, bolstered by reinforcements from Ohio and Florida. They put aside their antagonism with the Islamists for a joint onslaught. They dug themselves in, erecting an Eruv of gas ovens at their perimeter in order to sap the will of the besieged. However, Rothko <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/rothko-light-red-over-black-t00275" target="_blank">canvasses </a>appeared everywhere and at every angle, like a Roman Legion’s tortoise formation. The AltRight couldn’t get their ovens to work, the gas to flow, the flame to light. When they sent in their engineers, they observed how the oven doors were indistinctly and imprecisely edged, being of poor fit and allowing the chemicals to escape. The gas too had condensed into thick pigmented layers, rendering it too dense to ignite. Rothko’s hues sucked the heart and space out of them, demanding a crepuscular meditation they just could not offer up. Instead many jumped inside their own ovens and begged for combustion to take them completely away from this claustrophobic Hell. And so a retreat from New York was engendered, back to the snowy wastes of the Heartland. </span></span></p>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-12753245898695271002020-11-03T16:59:00.005+00:002020-11-03T17:04:15.251+00:00The US election - a view from afar<p>I'm writing this as US voters go to the polls, with no idea of the outcome of the ballot, nor the potential outcome beyond the counting of the votes, whether the result will be accepted and we get a peaceful transfer of power if Biden wins. </p><p>I have a few observations from this side of the pond, none of which add up to a thesis, but which I think have some resonance for the UK's and democracies across the globe.</p><p>If Trump loses, what has the last four years been about and what has it achieved? One can question Trump's initial motives to run for President, either an extension of his reality tv persona o the next level, an ego trip to become the most powerful man in the world, or the opportunity to milk the office for him and his family to make as much money as possible, but whatever they were, they don't seem very ideological. He has achieved very little in policy terms. The coal and steel industries have not returned as promised, though the economy seems to be doing better, but this is more due to where the US is in its economic cycle than anything contributed by Trump. For all his bluster, there is no wall excluding migrants from the South, trade with China is fractious but ongoing, while America First in global trade hasn't been delivered and he's only partially repealed Obama Care.</p><p>His foreign policy initiatives have been few and far between. He's favoured Russia (both in Syria and Ukraine) and Israel, but the position with North Korea is still unresolved, while he has not been able to get the rest of NATO to pay its fair share of running costs. It's quite common for oligarchies to distract their populations from the money they are raking into their own pockets with foreign policy initiatives, but Trump doesn't seem to have done that. Instead he's ridden on the wave of furious support versus opposition over issues such as Russian electoral interference, using state influence to manipulate private dealings (Ukraine), relations with porn stars, Black Lives Matter protests and COVID19 to keep people divided and off-balance. It's scrutiny, but not in the right places, or rather in so many different pockets that there was never any central laser focus to really damage Trump. And what could be more derisory than an impeachment vote that everyone knew could never get through both houses of Congress?</p><p>And this I think HAS been the point of Trump's 4 years. To sow chaos and division under the guise of draining the swamp, that brings the very fundamentals of democracy itself into question. Elections that can't be trusted, elections where the vote may not be respected out on the streets, the assault on the media despite the constitutional protection of free speech. And we have yet to see how the new Supreme Court shapes up. Trump has managed to completely warp reality so that we can't be sure of anything, not facts, not the report of our own senses. Trump can be shown in old footage to be shaking hands with someone and then 5 years later deny that he ever met that person and it's shrugged off as par for the course. Criticism is a witch hunt, evidence is fake news. In four years, his opponents have failed to land a knockout blow on Trump, despite the weight of steel available to lace their gloves with. </p><p>Now Trump is the perfect person to sow disorder and chaos wherever he treads, but who gains by him doing so? As said, he's no ideologue, so this is not a precursor on his part to bringing in a whole raft of laws to establish some thought-through blueprint of a Trumpian democracy. However, the undermining of reality and being unable to rely on anything as true, has the hallmark of Vladimir Putin's Russia. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Pomerantsev">Peter Pomerantsev</a> has written extensively about this strategy. But the destabilising of US democracy and hallowed political institutions also has the grubby fingerprints of Steve Bannon all over it, even though he was kicked out of Trump's cabinet at an early stage. Seems like the seeds of chaos he laid down have sprouted in his absence. He hasn't so much as drained the swamp, as allowed the swamp to break its levees and cover the whole country in effluent. </p><p>If Trump loses and even if there is no civil unrest in response, it is hard to see how Biden, a singularly unimpressive figure who once plagiarised speeches from Neil Kinnock remember, could ever heal and reunite the nation now so divided down, ironically enough, ideological lines. Anti-immigrant, America First, anti-Vaxxer, anti-lockdown, anti-science (and facts in general) are the rump of Trump's support. That is Trump's legacy, four years of no material progress for the fabric of society, only regression. Trump has had four years to make America great again, by his own boasting he shouldn't need caps proclaiming the need for four more years. One more hopeful legacy that may also arise, is that the Republican Party may be forced to embrace a greater diversity to reflect changing demographics and that it can no longer just get by largely on just the white male vote. Yet if power is peacefully transferred to Biden, then one can only celebrate the American people's mental acuity; they tried the Trump experiment, adjudged it a failure and moved to change the outcome by rejecting it and going in a different direction. Unlike us here in the UK, who after the disaster of Austerity, the looming disaster of Brexit, the cretinous mishandling of the pandemic, have continued to return Conservative government after Conservative government, with none of the litheness possibly demonstrated by the US electorate tonight. Britain has been punching itself in the face for over a decade now. I hope and pray the American public don't do the same. </p><p><br /></p><p>Other posts:</p><p><a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2017/01/letter-to-america-how-to-take-on-trump.html" target="_blank">Letter To America - 10 days after inauguration, how to take on Trump</a></p><p><a href="https://sulcicollective.blogspot.com/2017/02/fight-back-threat-of-donald-j-trump.html" target="_blank">Fightback - cartoons for the threat of Donald J Trump </a></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-66766598442334663402020-06-15T19:52:00.000+01:002020-06-15T20:36:23.987+01:00Relaxing Lockdown - A Rant<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The queue outside Nike's flagship store in London on the day of reopening<br />
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Let me tell you why this image fills me with despair. This is a shot of customers queuing outside Nike's flagship store in the West End of London, on its first day of reopening after certain restrictions on lockdown were lifted. They don't seem to be observing social distancing, though I know the store has taken precautions to institute it. The virus that has claimed 40,000+ lives in this country, is seemingly outweighed by the need to purchase a new pair of sneakers. <i>But they're all wearing masks Marc</i>. They are indeed, masks certainly help, but they do not guarantee protection. That means they impart false confidence, people get sloppy in their habits. Besides, I don't get the sense of the folk gathered here having made calculations of their own personal risk. Swishy-swooshy shoes out-trumps that.<br />
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Now I get that it could be viewed as an assertion of <b>freedom</b>, that finally we have been released from virtual house arrest. But to me it rather serves as testimony to being <b>enslaved</b> by corporate consumption. What could be more important after 13 weeks than buying the latest Nike models? Did all their shoes fall apart under lockdown? From all that exercising they probably undertook (irony klaxon). Equally, did all the folk waiting for entry into Primark (below) have to replace clothes that had succumbed to being moth fodder in the last 3 months?<br />
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How do you best express your recovery of freedom? Apparently you go out and look to buy goods that are not perishable in the short-term as food is and which have been branded as non-essential for a quarter of the year. It demonstrates the stranglehold certain goods and logos have on our imaginations and desires, that they become our first course of action, the number one thing we reach for in the outside world. Consumption is a declaration of who you are, but only after having had your independence of choice utterly manipulated by the marketing of these brands as 'the must own' or 'the latest model'. The same shrivelled imagination that left some people completely unable to make their own entertainment during lockdown, because they've always had somebody else or something else do it for them.<br />
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And yes we all want to support our local stores and to help reignite the economy that has slumped since March. But I can't help feeling such altruism is not high on the shopping list of these consumers. They are feeding their own appetites first and foremost, so that any assistance to the country as a whole is somewhat secondary.<br />
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Typically it's women who are said to be obsessed with shopping and particularly shopping for clothes. But the majority of those outside Nike are male. I think there is probably something about their identities and how they see themselves, that they have to associate themselves with global sports brands that axiomatically stamps them as athletes and men of prowess, even if they don't chase after balls or hit things with bats. It's that same drive that makes you want to have the latest Apple product that replaces last year's model. A Frankenstein's monster patchwork of globally available, logo-driven identities that supposedly constructs your unique, individual essence. And makes you feel totally invulnerable. Against a virus that takes no notice of brand names.Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-11697127017308225602020-03-27T09:53:00.000+00:002020-03-27T09:53:06.302+00:00The Devil's Paintbox - Flash Fiction<br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Representing God’s beauteous creation” the artist said, holding his brush up to match the perpendicularity of a tree marking the boundary of the field.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Thou shalt not make any graven image, or any likeness that in Heaven above, or-“ the bucolic blustered, red fire pointilling his cheeks.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“In his creation of Nature my good man. There is no depiction of any being here”. The painter with careful deliberation, brought the tip of his brush to kiss the surface of the canvas and held it in place, echoing Michelangelo’s <i>God Created Adam </i>on the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling<i>, </i>which he had seen and paid sublunary homage to, with secular reverence and human awe.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yet your trestle thing there, has the three appendages of Satan himself, so I say your crafting is for diabolic purposes”. He waved his horned staff in the air as if, in his imagination, he was slashing the canvas perched some yards ahead of him.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“My pitchfork is aimed at the Heavens, doing godly work tilling the Lord’s soil for the bounty He provides. Your trident is inverted, pointing straight down to Hell’s abyss”. The farmer caught himself from dabbing at the ground and besmirching his trusty implement.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“And yet I stand here in your field, not only for the vista, but for the divine light afforded here. You invoked the curse of Lucifer before, which of course you know means the <i>bringer of light</i>”. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Blasphemer!” emphasised and punctuated by two thrusts of the barbs, six bolts of angel lightning, though lacking any illuminating fire.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You are a harvester of the soil are you not? Well then we are brothers in arms, though my modest paintbrush be my godly instrument”. He dabbed at the paint on his palette, loading up on pigment before plunging it into another hued gobbet and swirling the bristles in a zealous eddy to blend them.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“How so, when it is doubtless made of the same material as any besom ridden to a witches sabbat?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The artist ceased his motions and tilted the plane of his palette to demonstrate for his inquisitor. “Because all my tinctures come out of the earth just like your crops. Red cinnabar, yellow orpiment(*), orange ochre, green malachite and brown umber are all drawn from the soil itself, while glorious lapis lazuli, veritably the mirror of the sky, is like a stone sown in the earth. Gypsum white, the very same substance you use to fertilise the fruits of the earth. The stained glass in the cathedral, the altar frescos, each rendered with these outputs yielded beneath your mattock. We should all be giving thanks for such bounteous gifts; you do yours on your knees in church; I stood here at my easel, but we are both making our invocations”.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">* orpiment (arsenic) and cinnabar (mercury) are both sulphide ores, sulphur of course being the constituent of brimstone, the supposed pertinent odour of Hell.</span></span></div>
<br />Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-43224904690968788482020-02-28T15:01:00.000+00:002020-02-28T15:01:47.980+00:00Generation Loss - Short Story
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<span class="s1">Content warning: This is a story about institutionalised historic child abuse.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Course we didn’t call them predators back in the day. Nor paedophiles neither. As our social betters constantly reminded us back then, we lacked for the benefit of their Classical education. Latin to enter Law or the Church, Greek for medicine. No, in our vulgar vernacular, we would have referred to them as kiddy fiddlers or child molesters. Not like now when people scream and shake their fists at police vans with vertiginous window slits on our collective behalf. Barely able to enunciate a syllable in their fury. Being jostled by the photographers from the gutter press. Predators of a different sort, but drawn from our very same class, albeit with their cloaca intact and as undisturbed as their moral sensibilities. Eleven Plus more than common entrance exam, they could certainly string a sentence together, or a couple of words at least. Banner headlines. Where have they been all this time? Just where were their words until now? No of course playground gossip couldn’t meet your standards of evidence, but we have been proved right haven’t we? In spades. A Scottish stand up comedian also knew just the same as us. But since his schtick was outrage, you all just laughed outrageously and that was the limit of it. Defanged and purged of all rage. Soften the belly rather than sharpen the broadsword. Only the problem with that, is then society merely rolls over to have its tummy tickled. All the while others offstage spurt into our suppurating swollen arses. Reclining there purring, even as we are prostrate mewling. Catamite caterwauling. You lot having a good belly laugh while we are face down in carpet fibres or Egyptian linen, having our sides split by far more heft than a legionnaire’s spear, our tears silently importuning the warp and woof. We are red eyed, flushed rosy cheeked, our slapped buttocks livid crimson and the crowning glory, our rubicund anuses. How we matched one another, burst blood vessel for burst blood vessel. Theirs in ecstatically flaring, burgundy clown noses. What a hoot.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Historical sex abuse? You got that right. Institutionalised all the way back to Ancient Greece. Amongst the aristocracy. Pedagogic ephebophilia. Underpinning the social and moral values of their society. Specious philosophical and poetic propagations of pederasty (my Classical auto-didactic Education obtained online). Plato’s “Symposium” posited that it strengthened the hand of democracy over tyranny, as a man would fight to defend his love in the face of despotic imperatives. Through Medieval knights with their squires and the rites de seigneur, of course girls could be married off as children back then. Dynastic pederastic. Church and State. Of clergy exorcising their demons by transplanting them into convent girls and choirboys. Repudiating the symbolism of the Eucharist in their hunger for my blood and body, a rectal chalice playing host to their wafer fat crosiers. Teachers with canes, rattans, blackboard pointers, all manner of instructional scourges, whipping across flesh exposed bare by schoolboy shorts. Further glossed with public school fagging. Wellington claimed that victory at Waterloo was brought about on the playing fields of Eton. Not just Eton, but St Pauls, Harrow and Winchester too. Wykehamist and The Guards, a well worn aristocratic career path. Trailing a cold stream of cum in its wake. British society forged in the smithery of porksworded degradation. The Establishment established upon gaping rumps and prematurely penetrated pudenda. A kleptocracy of our youth. Even when not born into silver spoon privilege, you didn’t have to hide your desiderata. You just applied to the Civil Service for a job in the colonies. Out of sight out of mind. Turn a blind eye? The eye didn’t have to be blind. Different rules applied there. Initiation rites and child brides. Colonial female genital mutilation by sarcous lancet. Perfectly natural. Good as law, not that the fuzzy-wuzzies had law until us British brought it to them. Two world wars knocked the stuffing out of the aristocracy. Saw the end of empire and the loss of untrammelled access. The easy pickings. But not the end of our inveterate deflowering. Britain was rebuilt and reconstructed. A country fit for heroes fabricated on the back of six to eight inches of scabby, scaly pneumatic drills, pouring cold concrete and cement to seal up the gapes and breaches in our flesh. With AIDS in the 1980s, suddenly children with their virgin clean blood were even more prized as safe. And today, they perpetually bang on about British values. A Britain built on our backs as we lay on our stomachs. These days everything’s about identity isn’t it? What it means to be British. You never asked for ID proof of age, even as you stripped us of our identities. You rip and tear the tissue of our membrane in order to preserve the fabric of society intact. So you can go on your way and legislate hypocrisy, or perform catharsis rituals for you and your audience both.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Each power shift in political and economic class we anticipated might emancipate us. After the aristocracy, we discovered that the bourgeoisie were no better. That we were Moloch’s children. The offspring of self-made fathers who had nothing to do with parenting as they courted Mammon. All relationships reduced to commodity and exchange. And until we were productive, we were just a drain on the domestic housekeeping. Workhouse rough trade, low rent boys. A perfectly elastic supply of under-age gamins and urchins, with perfectly inelastic sphincters for you to buck the laced up trend. Yet even they were not the true parasites. No, a new post-war class of arrivistes and parvenus fetched/filched/felched up. Deriving from our own class. Social climbers like poison ivy. Cultural capitalists. Pop stars and footballers who could buy your crumbling country pile ten times over. Who gave us all what we craved for. You peddle us these dreams then you infect us through them. Of being dancers, singers, footballers, or just even inhaling the perfumed air of our heroes in the same TV studios. But your upstart stench was corrupt up close. Stardom reeks of fetid half-life decay. Secreting sweat, animal musk and roused pheromones, only we were too callow to arrogate them. But we were savvy enough to make comparisons. We gauged how limited and stunted your imaginations were. For folk supposedly fired by fecund creativity. Since you could only ape your social superiors in how you spray marks of your wealth. How you displayed and conspicuously consumed it. But you had no breadth of experience. It hadn’t, couldn’t, be bred into you. So your champagne, cigars, silks, mood music, were all of inferior quality to those of the blue bloods, because you couldn’t tell the difference. You didn’t know any better. With your palates jaded before their time. We knew, we had a better idea, because of the smack of it on you, just as we could smell it on them. We’d been rogered by a better class of paedophile, with better Class A drugs than you and we detected better vintages, greater purity. Epicures rather than gourmands. Sweeter and less sickly sweat exuded from their stately pores. Their breath marginally more aromatic, their saliva less granular. Their cum tasting of higher quality tinctures than yours could muster. We were less likely to develop cavities and caries noshing on their posh nob knobs than yours, packed full of your sugar-high takeaway and fast food super-vitamins. There was inherent deference cinched into our relationships with them. But with you, it was just degenerate and raven.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">We are the broken generation. Generation loss. So what’s new? What’s changed is that we answered back. We didn’t suffer us little children to come to you. Behind our legal screen of anonymity we couldn’t be seen, but we most definitely and determinedly made ourselves obscenely heard. No longer stiff upper lips, tough to maintain when you have a tumescent tallywhacker thrusting between quivering labia. We don’t care lest you make good on your threat to kill our families if we spill the beans on your spilt seed. For our families are broken asunder and dispersed and neglectful, so we despise them all anyway. Why else would we be rounded up and concentrated in children’s homes and on at risk registers, for you to procure with a big bulls eye target painted on our chests? We were hoist on your petards not by our own. You ran us up the shafts of your flagpoles and then saluted us. The Red, Black and Blue. The involuntary union with Jack the Impaler. Like the Act of Union yoking the Scots into Great Britain. But now the Scots too have found their voice as they looks to tear down the flag and rend it into its separate stripes. It took Scotland over 400 years to make its case, so none to shabby for just fifty or so until we pointed our fingers with nails bitten to the quick in order to accuse our abusers. Mind you, now that we’ve raised our objections, the authorities can’t even sort out a judge to hear our complaints of historical assault. Hardly surprising since the judiciary is riddled with sexual peccadillos, though that’s never stopped them sitting on the Bench weighing up the fates of their malfeasant social inferiors. Funny word peccadillo. Derived from the original Latin for ‘sin’, yet the Romance languages, in this case Spanish, dilute it to an indiscretion; similarly the French, a faux-pas. A wrong step, a mere slip. Where’s the romance in violation? So can I just reappoint us closer to its original moral weight, where ‘discretion’ is the ability to act out of one’s own free judgement? Something we are forever denied by this monstrous phallusy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">It’s not your fault the therapists counsel. You did nothing wrong. These are bad, wicked people. Exploiting your vulnerability. And thereby ‘therapist’ splits into ‘the’ ‘rapist’, as we are plunged all over again into our emotional turmoil, fraught with all the promises and oaths against divulgence we were made to swear to our transgressors, only now self-imposed. Why were we so vulnerable? Why were we so weak? Why were we the ones picked out, picked on and picked clean? Others ask us why we males didn’t fight back, what bare our milk teeth you mean? No they contend, once we’d reached maturity - overlooking that it is forever suspended and our body fails and quails away from us - why didn’t we strapping lads go seeking after our violators and exact revenge? Else us little girls were teases, who led our vilipenders on and got what we deserved for our provocative ways and raiment. Do I look like a tease, stood here sporting torn hymen, mouth gouged into a permanent rictus with downturned corners? Smile, it will never happen. Oh you can’t, because it already has. Do I seem over-sexualised to you? Rather I’m desexualised. They have de-pithed and decorticated me. Pulled all my petals off. He rapes me, he rapes me not. He rapes me, he rapes me not. No, he definitely is raping me. Before puberty, already there will be no futurity of blooms and blossoms. My genitalia have been deadheaded. Scarred and cicatrised pudenda. I am a cut flower in a vase of stagnancy. Before I had ever bled, they had plugged and blotted me with their gnarled pulpy tampons. They foreshortened and accelerated my pubescence. Blood marked. Difficult for the naked eye to distinguish menstrual blood from the blood of injured tissue. Impossible when both become permanent wounds. You don’t think we already torment ourselves enough with these thoughts?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Yet now we are emboldened with the aegis of social media. The virtual Gorgon’s head on our breastplate that enables us to stitch back our tongues in place. However, it is a double edged sword. And we cut ourselves. Crowdsourcing shared tales of abuse also invites reproaches to get over it. Get over ourselves. There is not so much abuse for us naming septuagenarian disc jockeys, especially dead ones who have thereby cheated justice and had their Twitter accounts closed down. Those never brought to book now not in a position to update their Facebook. Yet if we dare broach the partisan sacrosanctity of a football club, then we are rounded on with death threats and yes, further promises of adult rape. Why are you only just bringing this up now? Why haven’t you mentioned it before? Well we did and you cocked a deaf’un. In the main we stayed mute because they had a whole network behind them to keep their secrets safe. Chockfull of character witnesses who claim they never witnessed any impropriety. He’s not that kind of guy. He wouldn’t take the chance of ruining his reputation. He’s got a career to think of. Yeah and we were the riders in the green room contractually codicilled in as part of that career. Served up on a silver salver. No <i>play</i>, no play. You move heaven and earth to protect the stellar entertainers, the ones that keep the rest of our kind entranced. To defend the talent, who ironically in turn, call us young things the talent. Less a false modesty, rather a salacious leer. They send their snatch squad of fixers, their unofficial talent spotters, out into the gathering auditorium audience and invite us backstage. What chance of we for revelation, when even the Royal Household is at it? At us. With friends in the highest of possible places. In palaces.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Cut off the rapists’ hands goes the cry. For this is not so much a crime of sex but one of power. Except those with power have valets, aides-de-camp, batmen, stewards, equerries, man servants, internuncios, factotums, flunkeys and all manner of lackeys to carry out their will. So any of these hired hands could in their stead, throw us up against the wall, kick-splay our legs, spreadeagle our arms and guide their Master’s member into the holes of us junior masters. Or even the bourgeoisie without a household retinue to brace any underhanded unhandedness, would just jab, jab, jab us continually backwards with their engorged middle leg, until they too have us hard up against the wall and unerringly pathfind its one-eyed slither towards the winking anal bull’s eye. There is no escape, how can there be when the commonwealth is constructed upon those yet to reach the age of majority?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">See you in Court. With the peccadildoing judges. Wonder how many of them we will know first hand?</span></span></div>
<br />Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-12801776024849800332020-01-16T19:11:00.000+00:002020-01-16T19:11:39.589+00:00"Tells" - Flash Fiction<br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">The stakes were modest but the competitiveness was voracious. Four studs soldered around the poker table. Unfurling game face masks, over the socialised visors they already sported. But they were always breached by the show and tells of involuntary tics and pigmentations, that flushed their true subjectivities from beneath. Emotional striations on the scratching post of masculinity. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">First was Donnie, sporting sunglasses indoors to conceal his eye twitch, but who was habitually betrayed by all the other facial muscles which remained unveiled; genuflecting wrinkles; quivering dimples; the inward pursing of lips for a dud hand; and puckered for a half-decent one. Then there was Todd, begloved in order to cloak his excitable eczema, but only providing a secondary membrane for when his fingers drummed on the table at two differing syncopations, congruous to the anticipated satisfaction prompted by the cards. Nor could the gloves save him, from the stress reveal of the increasing tightening of his knuckles, by which he found it increasingly difficult to grip and fan his cards as the night wore on. As for Carlos, his whole body was his tell. Slumping back in his chair with despair; or lurching forward to compulsively stack his chips from ziggurat to minaret and back again. Babel tower invocations to the divine, to send him the succubus-muse of Lady Luck.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Finally, there was Donnie, whose tells had nothing to do with the cards he held. He sniffed uncontrollably, though unnoticed by him, as the cards were being shuffled and the antes tossed in; while the pockets were being dealt; during the flop and the fold; all the way through to the raking of the pot. But his most blatant tell, was the outsized diameter of his permanently flared nostrils. Scarfskin gouged by corrosive chemical powders, while all manner of impromptu conduits, cannulas and flues further furrowed the flesh. Naturally, each could read the tells of the others arrayed around the table, but kept that knowledge pressed into their chests, no less unflinchingly than their hands of cards.</span></span></div>
<br />Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-53187935511431405522019-12-16T12:48:00.000+00:002019-12-16T12:48:33.052+00:00My Top 10 (and worst 2) Reads Of The Year<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EpwLW2zD_SA" width="560"></iframe>Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5179795275664264195.post-79867209783148152662019-11-28T15:09:00.000+00:002019-11-28T15:09:03.731+00:00Post-Coital Bliss - Extract from my novel "A,B and E"On the day that The Literary review announce their shortlist for the <i><b>Bad Sex In Literature Award</b></i>, I thought I'd dust off a sample from my debut novel "A,B &E", which is post-coital, but racks up the sexual tension no less.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">*</span><br />
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Simon his name was. One of the few pre-coital words tossed beathlessly in my direction. Now, no longer one flesh, our torsos cloven apart. Our legs however were still intertwined. He, head slumped against my shoulder, legs splayed out at the diagonal. Me, stiff backed against the headboard, my left leg threaded under his right and over his left. My right leg bent at the knee, arching over his ankles. Hand propped on it, fingers buttressing a lit cigarette overhanging the sheet beyond my foot. I’ve no intention of bringing it to my lips. It measures out time for him, embers in place of grains of sand. The span of two such kindlings will determine whether he is reignited, or rolls over to sleep. I have found this chronometry unfailingly meters the male metabolism.<br />
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I glance over towards him, unable to determine whether the look in his eye expresses confusion as to why I am not putting it to my mouth, or suppressed concern as to the impulse of the hot ash. The modern day version of barefoot and blindfold. He tilts his torpid head as a prelude to inquiry, but I nimbly raise the index finger of my right hand and gently transect his lips. Uh-uh, if we no longer are able to retain the disarticulations of earlier, the reflexively unreflected babble, the sonorous squalls coitally quarried from our deepest seams of self, then better we are held together under silence’s shroud. It is paramount that we become alalial allies. It is the very heart of the matter. I shake my head for added emphasis and already I detect his purpose is lost in the undulations of my tresses against his exposed cheek.<br />
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Suffused in my ruminations, I was unaware that my murmuring Medusa’s locks had ceased their stroke. He was unconsciously rubbing his delicately flayed cheek and I ventured some sort of vocalisation would follow. Again I placed my finger across his lips and spiked their unsheathing. Tentatively he edged the tip of his tongue out against my tapered digit and hastily withdrew it again. He had tasted my resolve. Through the conduit of his lips, I felt his whole body flinch as he gathered himself up towards defiance of my circumvention of speech. I unfurled my middle finger and laid it with great deliberation next to her sister, across the crevice of his mouth. The muscles at the corners of his lips, measuredly retracted their charges into a crooked grin. My two fingers now like twin colonnades, bracing open his stupid wide aperture. I lent forward and mutely kissed the extended knuckles of my own fingers. That threw him somewhat. For as his startled lips were about to clamp down reflexively on them, I withdrew my fingers but maintained their sentinel trajectory. He was seemingly transfixed by the sight of two caryatids rigidly posted just beyond his orifice. He was beyond coherence right now. Veritably speechless. He jutted his chin forward and slithered out his tongue to reel my goading digits into his teeming maw. They waggled out of range. He extended further forward. My fingers spun away. He was shaping to cast again, when my left foot snakes across and presses him back down across his chest. He is about to protest verbally, when my twin fingers reassert their superintendence across his portals of locution. His body sags and crumples back to the mattress, though I can tell his mind has been wracked by a bolt of delicious tautness.<br />
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After a circumspect period, I detach both my leg and my fingers. He does not stir. I light my second cigarette and resume my vaulting of him. Leadenly, he rolls on to his side and scrabbles for something on the floor. He resurfaces with a burgundy towelling robe, (brought with him from home, since this is not the class of hotel which runs to provisioning them for guests, though the guests would be of the class happily to snaffle them), before reclining back towards the headboard. Half self-pinioned, awkwardly he shrugs himself into the robe. He gropes around his back for something, with clumsy, sightless digits. I surmise that he seeks the belt of the robe, but it is not there. He submits and his head slowly sinks back down the surface of the headboard. His long locks pincered by his crown, momentarily maintain their station like creeping ivy, before they descend to unseam his now less than immaculate coiffure. I fix him there, framed unflatteringly by the knobbly towelling. At the angle he lies, his glorious sixpack is almost completely submerged by the flesh collected under gravity. There is even the hint of a rucking of flabby skin just above his hips. Why on earth has he donned this garment and broken the spell ? I deflect my gaze and peer through the rising cigarette smoke as if for augury. I must have sensed something in the corner of my eye and snapped my focus back, to intercept him about to tumble words into the air. This time it’s my cigarette-cradling fingers that drape themselves over his mouth. His eyes start to water, from the proximity of the smoke, or from more internal fusillades I cannot be sure. I know the prosaic reason for the robe of course. The poor lamb’s cold. His lips are quivering. He manoeuvres them to siphon some superficial heat from my cigarette, his irises scuttling to their extreme margins scanning for any repercussion. Good boy, maybe we’re getting somewhere after all. I cant my face away so that my jagged smokey laughter does not exhale over him.<br />
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The sheen of sweat from our earlier endeavours, (which so sublimely varnished his sixpack all throughout) still sits atop his skin. But it has fulfilled its function and cooled him down, to the extent where his follicles currently stood to attention in an attempt to reinsulate him. They no longer glistened like the limbs of an insect dappled with pollen. Now such droplets threaten his tonicity. Indolent, mutinous beads with no sustained interdependence. They subvert him. He trusts to the robe to absorb and dismiss them. To tamp him back down and regather. My perspiration went west long ago. Evaporated, since my temperature’s still rising with the afterglow. I take pity on him and place my two unburdened fingers on his lips again. He is surprised, since he was not attempting to challenge me. But this time they do not crest the vertex, but bow in supplication at the lower ridge. They wait a while, before he hesitantly lifts the labium and gently skims the pads of my fingers. Emboldened, he grazes them with his gums, before eventually, he throws off his shackles and engulfs them. He laps at them with bulbous slurps and satisfied tiny suction pops. So I flick his teeth with one of them as scourge. He responds obediently and laps at them regularly, up and down in a spiral. First one, then his tongue nudges them apart so he can acquire the second. Like he’s chamoising minature mullions. Sure enough, he soon slots into a mechanical, albeit arrhythmic, insipid servicing. His thoughts off elsewhere, because he’s too blunted to assert what he wants. Wordlessly that is.<br />
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His problem, like so many of his kind, is he will not just live in the timeless moment. He’s all sweaty, He’s cold. He’s lying in a viscous, cloying pool (of his own making and one in which I am happy to cleave to me, to adhere me to the sheet. To anoint us together). And, he wants to prate about it. Ask asinine questions towards self-aggrandizement. Or to record and log proceedings. To minute them. To compare with the past and to carry forward amendments into the future. Where he has already projected himself. It was as if he was narrating the entire event. The circumstance. An episode. He is keen to march me back into the mundane and I am not at that double quick pace. He wants to return us to the formally structured relations, of speaker and listener. Addresser and addressee. Subject and object. Chatterer up and chatted up. The one inside and the one outside, of intent. He cannot wait for the sperm pellicle to mark out time by receding to a light, dried crust. There’s premature ejaculation and then there’s premature post-ejaculation. Cos intimacy ought not have departed with consummation. Our bodies had spoken, but they were still communing with one another in mute elation. Interwoven, flesh blended with flesh. Who knew or cared where you ended and I began ? So what of your slight edge on me in hirsuiteness, or my darker pigmentation ? It was all awash in the sensual maelstrom, the perceptual overload. Our fallible vessels, cause of so much anxiety in the workaday consciousness, had been temporarily uplifted, so we could quaff of mutual veneration and adoration. And we should seek to prolong those feelings for as long as possible. For eternity. To remain conjoined, even in stillness. Indeterminate and undifferentiated. Equals.<br />
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<br />
Until that is, you clad yourself in your burgundy fleece. Now our separateness is clear. Our demarcation evident against the hues of the sheet pointing up our contrast. A chasm between us, yawning in your case, yearning in mine. Me beached on dry land, you still shivering in the shallows. Conspicuously other. Another species almost. A reimposition of the way of things. You satisfied. Content. And me ? Trying to hold the moment. The feeling. But now solely dependent on my own creative resources. And yet far too aware of this reliance, so it slips from my grasp all the while. In closing the aperture of his reporting mouth, I have sealed the portal of our connection as if rolling a huge dolmen across the exposed fissure of his self. Occluded any and all light of disclosure from emanating from his hollow being. God damnit ! A role reversal yields the same futile outcome. My eyes hold all the unstinting power that Damon’s held, yet it prospers me in no wany, shape or form.<br />
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<br />
My cigarette had burned away to nothing. On the stroke of its expunction, he rolled over on to his side and curled into himself slightly. Somehow, his unsecured robe, his vinculum to life, had managed to adhere to him throughout his quarter revolution, his waning crescent, and still mantled his immodesty. I was now fully excised from his being, tossed into his moat of oblivion as the drawbridge of sleep was raised. I took a pinch of the robe between my fingers and lightly peeled it from his skin. I had a clear view of his ribs gently rising and falling with his quieted breath. The upswing seemed to take an eternity, as they manfully bore aloft their own weight against gravity. The downswing seemed to presage a relieving collapse, but each time caught itself from shuddering and instead coursed down in modulated repose. How does he sleep so easily ? I bent down to softly kiss them in salute. My lips left a glistening imprint upon them, which I watched undulate for a couple of cycles. Insufficient moisture to model a tidal effect with his zephyr breath. Then I leant over and smashed my balled fist into the centre of my mark and was rewarded with a satisfying crack. I took my reappropriated rib back from him...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/B-Marc-Nash-ebook/dp/B005JUPS0I/ref=sr_1_7?keywords=marc+nash&qid=1574953580&s=digital-text&sr=1-7" target="_blank">To buy on Kindle </a></td></tr>
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<br />Sulci Collectivehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03293833259808943096noreply@blogger.com0