Down to words (1356)

Note (8)

 

“So the guy who threw the table was John’s brother.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know the father?”

 

Why ask who was the father of the brother of John? Again, there is no theory here. The answer to the question ‘why ask?’ just breeds more questions.  It focuses on the questioner, not the guy who threw the table.

 

Here is one thread:

 

“He does genealogies.” 

“Why does he do that?”

“His grandfather did them.”

 

All of a sudden one genealogy gets lost in another. Moreover, the question is diminished because of a hobby of the questioner. This is a diversion. There may be a tie-in. There may not be. The question may be irrelevant as to who the father of John is. That will be factual. It will not lead anywhere useful, such to as a family feud of the father and the proprietor. Inclination to genealogy matters not.

 

The answer is not: he is an example of a white, patristic, Aristotelian theory of voice that needs deconstructive violence against his spoken word. All this is implied because it is suggested that he does genealogy.

 

That adds a piece of useless theory. And it discounts or subtracts from the question.

Down to words (1355)

Note (7)

 

The narrowing or broadening is relative to other facts. The fact is the cops were called.  Another fact: the show did not go on. Another fact: the proprietor locked up the booze. Another fact: a few patrons breached the exit that set off an alarm. 

 

All manner of narratives are possible. All manner of threads.  They tie or do not.

 

Tie? One answer: Relative to narratives that may occur to you. Say, if he was the brother of John, who was the father? 

 

“Who is he? “

“The guy who threw the table.”

Down to words (1354)

Note (6)

 

“What were you doing?”

“I was looking to see how the show was going.”

“So how was it?”

“Looked pretty good. But the crowd was getting rowdy.”

 

Later you looked at how the routine worked after the intermission. That may also turn out to be a test or confirmation of whether you read or understood the situation right. 

 

The how here is not limited a priori to some particular facts. Trivially, what you find is what you find. But, non-trivially, you have to find it in the case. You do not make it up with a theory. You did not have a checklist of facts to follow, as you watched the show. You watched and things occurred to you.

 

(I have no theory of occurrence. I do not need one to say ‘it occurred to me’.)

 

The case can turn out to be broader than you originally thought. It can turn out to be narrower. You do not make that up.

 

“The thing fell apart when they started climbing on to the stage. Throwing the table up there was the last straw.”

 

The facts narrow as to why the cops were called.

Down to words (1353)

Note (5)

 

How can we tell what we are doing when we are trying to understand a case like this? Ans: we just do. The how is not theoretical. It is answered, if you will, by noting what you did when you looked at the case.  You looked at it. You considered it. You had some point of view. If you are the proprietor, say, from behind the bar. If a patron, from where you sat. Etc. 

 

There is nothing intellectually difficult here. You do not bring a reference manual of epistemologies to determine what you are able to know here.

 

“How did you happen to see that?”

“I was sitting up close to the stage.”

Down to words (1352)

Note (4)

 

The situation, trivially, is what it is. A true account of it, trivially, is what it is. A good read of the case has its value: for the comedian who needs to continue, for the proprietor who is selling the drinks, for the patron who may decide he has better things to do.

 

Unfortunately, and non-trivially, there are many who cannot see this. They add where they do not need to add, or subtract where it is not called for. They do not get a good read.

Down to words (1351)

Note (3) 

 

This is simply a point about the comedian, his audience, what it takes to keep its attention. There may be something else to add. Maybe music holds them for an intermission, while lines in a routine get shuffled. Maybe half priced drinks hold them. Maybe the crowd is turning mean and needs humor that demeans in the time to come. All this may be quite important to succeeding that evening as comedian, possibly to getting the old crowd out and a new one in.

Down to words (1350)

Note (2)

 

Timing is critical. Hence the clever comedian moves on.  He looks for a new comparison, takes your mind off the old one.  You have already laughed at that. He needs a new laugh. So may you.

 

He may need a hundred in a performance. So may you.

Down to words (1349)

Note (1)

 

Often when you take a good joke that rests on a comparison and expand it, you go on to kill the humor of the comparison that made the joke funny in the first place.  Even if it is correct, the comparison becomes tedious to your listener. Soon he wants to part company.

 

If what holds your company is quick humor, you had better come with some more.

Down to words (1348)

Shreddings (311)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar.

 

Affianced,

To Stoic defiance?

An old one that,

A mad one’s hat

On that one.

 

The wind is brisk,

Derrida’s whisk.

I take the risk.

 

Then as to the Lord above,

Of all things great and small:

 

How am I,

Sam I am so tall

Never to see

My flight to stall.

 

Always to have this light: 

To have myself

From outside to review?

I get to be, to do,

Alterity to view?

 

Am told the Whirlwind

Came to Job,

Much preface said by Elihu.

Am told of all Job’s friends,

Modern day book ends,

Job’s fine, false buds,

July 4^th duds,

Who played Alterity’s card.

 

Who played Alterity’s card,

Now praying hard, 

Past word and cry,

With offerings,

For fancying God’s eye.

 

And Job made whole,

Ne’er wroth from sackcloth,

Now doubled, 

Thus, now fold of two

And Buzzite Elihu,

Gone from view.

 

Daddo’s game:

 

See Book of Job, Chapters 32-42

 

At this point, there is much to finish. Sam T’s oath is the promise of the moment. Thus, I shall offer no further promised comments. There will be the notes of Daddo’s game, a game my poetic father Ezra Pound played in his mind in the Cantos, and thus required an annotated index to follow. I have supplied much of that kind of index for this inferior verse, as among other things, I discard memes, as Pound did personae in his early verse. 

 

(Generally, meme boys are dead from the get-go.)

 

There will also be notes of mind, scribblings, as they pop up. They will stand on their own.

Down to words (1347)

Shreddings (310)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar.

 

For my mere oath:

They will take me,

Remake me into meme

Short shrift me,

Find my dream

Chaff, riff, riff-raff.

Will always find 

Some rod or staff

To run me out of mind.

 

Then on to can me.

Espied, refried.

Seal me, can me.

An odd doc,

Kindest doc,

My meanest dream,

Its flowering to flow

As period piece,

On Steinbeck’s row

Nowhere to go,

A mud holed bean,

Aside me shove,

As Thomas’ metaphor of man,

Without a rub of love.

Canned,

Outmanned.

 

Daddo’s game:

 

Reference to Wordsworth, D. Thomas.

 

Also 

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cannery_Row_(novel)

Down to words (1346)

Shreddings (309)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar

 

My oath:

I do not care to raise it

Against whatever powers

Allow me talk.

I talk, I walk.

Let them correct me,

Let them stunt me,

Halt my growth.

They will do it anyway.

 

For my mere oath,

These powers,

No matter who they are,

Do cast me from alterity,

To wit, some fashion

Of an otherness of Freud, 

Or Jung,

Or Skinner stung,

Or Marx or Engels,

Casey Stengels

Of whatever bat I swing,

Am rapped,

Am handicapped

No matter what,

I am to sting.

They spank me

With whatever hand

Outflanks me.

Down to words (1345)

https://www.wsj.com/articles/meet-the-army-of-robots-coming-to-fill-in-for-scarce-workers-11665806451

Down to words (1344)

Shreddings (308)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar

 

I poke at flatland.

Pictures, pixels

Would bedeck my innards

Affix them to some flag,

It next to me,

Tick tack my oath to it,

Stapling it,

To let it fly,

Officiously,

To type and brand 

Outgoing to flatland.

 

I do not care to raise it.

Or it lower,

A flower,

Say,

Nor in, nor out,

Nor high, nor low,

But nigh,

Just here.

A mean, Ockhamist bloom

That fills this spaceless room

Just here.

As I do walk

And talk.

 

No meme 

To my mere dream.

Down to words (1343)

Shreddings (307)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar

 

My oath to Day Man

(And his name)

Does move my dream.

It is no meme.

 

It sits beneath 

My fallen name

And his.

It sits twixt us.

Sane and insane

Sit together,

In our rough weather

Of the soul.

 

My oath to Day Man,

Keep it going,

(Harvest now a mowing)

Comes to all that.

If more,

Then that as well.

As well.

 

Well. 

Then will the Lord above,

Of all things great and small,

The Mariner, O Mariner

Of the great oath, 

Of him that sails all seas,

Would calm them shore-to-shore,

Will he quote to me

Poe’s Raven 

Nevermore?

 

I take the risk.

Better it than 

Jackie D’s word whisk.

Down to verse (1342)

Shreddings (306)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar

 

It crowds me

As it frees me.

 

Aye, It crowds me,

As I must be free,

I will be free

Of all the trash talk

Of the ages,

Of all the trash, rash talk,

Against will stand:

From Wordy’s impulse

From a vernal wood

To all the walks

Of sages canned.

 

Sages canned as memes

Must fill my dreams 

No more.

 

The meanest flower that blows

Numbers even petals?

It moves me?

It moves me not?

Who knows?

 

But this it seems

As meme it moves my dream

No more.

Down to words (1341)

Shreddings (305)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar

 

It crowds me

As it frees me.

 

Its substance runs,

Drums past the forms

Of any deals,

Those serpent worms,

Diels or non Diels.

No haggling over fragments,

German, Greek, or French, 

How they might wrench

What I did say

With their supposes.

Their supposits.

This nonsense, that.

 

I flower mean:

Ockham like,

I use my razor.

Shave my abstract stubble clean.

 

I swore to see 

Day’s name all through.

To you, supposes,

You, supposits,

False deposits,

I swear that I am free of you.

 

Daddo’s game:

 

As I do not use the notion of a philosophical materialism here, I do not cast the oath as material or something else. I prefer not to use philosophies, save as metaphors for various misconceptions throughout the ages.

Down to words (1340)

Shreddings (304)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar

 

What are these paths

My ought doth breed,

That differ, grow so far

From scarcity or need?

 

Never would have thought

The ought,

Had I not made the oath

My vow avowed.

How did I come to make it?

It crowds me

As no crowd can crowd,

Its silence in me loud.

 

It has its substance,

Marrow that begins

In my dry bones,

Refuses death of Day Man's name,

Makes its misuse, its shame,

My own.

 

Yet, it crowds me

As it frees me.

Down to words (1339)

Shreddings (303)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar

 

Sam dreams,

Deep now in play

In day of Day.

Reflects,

Accepts, rejects.

Sam dreams.

Caught with my word?

Or hers:

The shouts that cured 

In faulty type,

On her unoiled, old Royal.

Or now breath pointless,

Ought gone to nought?

 

My words,

My ought,

Sam dreams.

There was the oath,

To Day, 

Of it the swearing,

The wearing on the mind

How far it went,

That fact intact.

The thought how far I meant to go,

The tearing out of paths

To make it show

Its substance past an empty form.

 

My words,

Sam dreams.

My ought

That made the path,

At least did lead it.

Never would have thought

The ought,

Had I not made the oath,

My vow that I avowed,

No crowd source of it.

Down to words (1338)

Shreddings (302)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar

The concrete cools.

Sam nods.

Sam dreams.

Yea, still awake, 

But head back

On the concrete slope

Where Day Man sat

And hoped and smoked

And wrote his glyphs

And sang his riffs.

 

Sam nods, thanks God,

As going got quite hard.

This going as a dot,

A kind of floating point above,

Says Sam I am, am not.

Sam the dot is not.

A dot that has a history

Is Sam the dot,

Says I am Sam,

No notion how,

No mother now,

No notion how

I learned these things.

Says I am Sam

If dot,

I have a history

That letters do not swallow.

No Royal makes me bow.

Down to words (1337)

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/hackers-steal-around-100-million-091802276.html

Down to words (1336)

Shreddings (301)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar.

 

The classes one can make

Into an otherness.

Motherness,

Consumed me times

Betimes,

As I were bread,

Then cast me out

As I were dead.

To never call my name

My name now gone,

My pronouns wrong,

No problem:

I do not cry,

Need not belong.

Retort is but contortion.

 

O Sam the dot

I am, I am

Sam I am,

Am Sam the dot.

 

The concrete cools.

Sam nods.

Sam dreams.

Down to words (1335)

Shreddings (300)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar.

 

Sam I am, yea Sam,

On dirty film

My lips were weaned

Before each was the scene

Before I gave my tittie cries

Before my bitty eyes,

The hour mean.

 

Her mouth.

Her mouth did run non-stop,

To mad instead,

Amazing every breath.

And all the words 

Come out of her

As rattled hype,

In broken type,

Unoiled.

Her worn keyed Royal.

 

Afar I see:

 

Unbroken verse

Sing-sung to me in bed,

Between her knees,

Did the reverse,

Did break me

Knit me locks in dread,

Did the reverse,

Did make me.

Early age I,

Sam I am, read,

As I learned lingo

By her leg.

Down to words (1334)

Shreddings (299)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar.

 

The classes one can make

Into an otherness,

To muscle out,

Or flee them,

All the same.

 

But make them into logic?

An intellect’s dream.

West got it right

To put the whorehouse

For the socialists

Who meet so as to ossify

The done,

Already putrified.

 

Daddo’s game:

 

Though West attended socialist rallies in New York City's Union Square, his novels have no affinity to the novels of his contemporary activist writers such as John Steinbeck and John Dos Passos. West's writing style does not allow the portrayal of positive political causes, as he admitted in a letter to Malcolm Cowley regarding The Day of the Locust: "I tried to describe a meeting of the anti-Nazi league, but it didn't fit and I had to substitute a whorehouse and a dirty film".^[12]

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nathanael_West

Down to words (1333)

Shreddings (298)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar.

 

To Maub?

Yea, not entirely kin.

No, Sam counts dreams,

Not gnats and ants,

But locusts, yea,

They had their day.

 

All this Sam dreams

Of Colly’s Fornie.

It was she, not he,

Come to Colly’s Fornie,

Yea, to die

In West Nathaniel’s scheme,

It was she, not he,

The guileless one

To stifle in old Fornie’s dream,

Then burn 

In one night fire,

Her mare’s dream,

As her mount bolted clean.

 

In Colly’s Fornie

A lout did sire 

Sam the dot,

Did do Sam,

And Sam’s Mutha,

Fore Sam was ever born,

Fore Sam was ever bother,

Fore even gleam

In Mutha’s eye,

Before he knew her company.

Yet Sam did come to learn

His lingo at her knee.

Daddo's game:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Day_of_the_Locust

Down to words (1332)

Shreddings (297)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar.

 

Sam has no rage.

That latter, coming, final stage, 

Consuming,

From that writing drug

That stole his Mutha’s soul

To put it on a page.

That last word, that she put,

Whatever, it was last.

So it was first

As she had gone 

From worse to worst,

In rage to outclass 

All the rest of kind.

To wit: her own,

And all him with it.

Never mind

That howling wolf

Which left his marks

About her chest,

And other parts,

Which Sam I am

Would salve impart

If she were left.

And either way, 

He would be him:

I am Sam

Sam, Sam the dot.

Down to words (1331)

Shreddings (296)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar.

 

A door above does creak

As Sam does sit below.

Sam, freak of talk, walks

Silent, without point.

Sam the dot,

Who sits where he is not,

Does float aside.

The lout, done with his affair,

His ride to wildness.

Mutha childless groans.

The lout comes down the stairs.

The front door opens.

Putrid breeze attends.

Sam the stairs ascends.

 

Ascent just play?

 

Sam the stairs ascends

Up Z-man’s mount

With nothing left to say,

Around the bend

To her front door

To see if there is nothing more.

 

The trip repeated

As though recursive, 

Function as disfunction,

Or the reverse.

Burdenless,

Not Sisyphus

Is Sam the dot,

Is I am Sam.