28.8.21

 

Walker Percy
               “The novelist or poet (painter  creator) in the future might be able to go (furthur), to discover how it is with man himself (if hes not a liar), who he is (if hes not a liar), and how it is between him and other men.” 
philosopher  semioticist better than semiotician

Percy please   Men
at a time when the male gender was considered the appropriate proper pronoun how gouache an ache in his balls

he didnt grasp the unremitting deference to men they get to have their cake and eat it too anit didnt matter if majority was women  THAT HAD to drive them apeshit 

old men were still little boys who had to have their noses wiped clothes cleaned food prepared for
                                                                                                        a whiny lot

thats why he didnt fit inhis mother wouldnt let him fit in

she best expressed it when he was a young teen and protested that he didnt want to do womens workSHE SLAPPED HIS FACE shocked himbrought him smackdab into the moment                                                                                                                                           If you think you’re leaving this house, my house, and being a bum some woman has to take care of, you’re out of your mind, you have another thing coming, buster. 
hurt his feelings she called him a bum


Walker Percy was a man of his timehis protagonists alienated upper-middle-class men  write what you know  he died in 1990

its now Percys Future

thirty years after his death man is no more familiar with himself than while Percy was alive
                                                                                                 in fact hes in retrograde  degenerating   degenerates  particularly those akin to Percy protagonists

when he tells family friends that he does not SEE men  its not hyperbolehe does not   women appeal to him  here in the Future if men could be more like women he may be able to SEE those marled vapours that could coalesce  condense begin to form the fog of menthough  he didnt have high hopes 
Time is running out
Step aside gents 
Let the women through
                                possibly the Future

some time Sunday,  30  5. 10
1124,  Saturday,  28  8. 21


he blamed Tolstoy

Hadji Murat
             the fleeting corruptible nature of national and religious identity

The Prisoner of the Caucasus
                               “The night were short. He saw light through a chink.”
mined alien words  aoul  saklya  beshmet he hadnt a cluethey could be whatever he wanted 
attempts to bridge the crevasse of otherness
                                                 Otherness  a tactic  a conscious prejudice divider

he blamed Dostoevsky

Notes from the Underground

The Brothers Karamazov

he blamed his daughters for making him read them again  they were books they had been assigned for their high school Advanced English  backing them up they had scintillating discussions of passages and chapters
                                                                                                      they wouldnt have been able to get through them if it hadnt been for himBOSH
                                                              an also if it hadnt been for him they said  they wouldnt have gotten through Shakespeare either he was a sucker for Shakespeare 


it seems people  we  have learned to distrust stories with messageswe disdain writers who bear ideas or ideologues which is what writers do
                            we do not like moralisers we do not want to be preached at we do not believe in answers or in endings
          our Faith is in ambiguity complexity irresolution doubt
                                                                       ambiguity   complexity   irresolution   doubt 

Life isnt that simple


Kikazaru

Mizaru

Iwazaru

monkeys

Hear No Evil

See No Evil

Speak No Evil
               he disagreed with evil  evil presumes religiosity  he didnt believe in religion  therefore nothing was evil though some things were bad or really really bad
                                              not evil

very likely written – ink looked the same – some time Sunnyday  13  6. 10
1300,  Thursday,  26  8. 21