Not even half way thru.
Really good part about eternal being used to transcend absurd -calls it eternal springboard, tremplin – akin to trampoline?!
Hegel just showed up. Along with throwing a Limit. And Aristotle. Resurgence and meeting points. p26
Old language shows up my head immediately – cut the cut and then from Montezuma’s bloomies springs – separation –
But first, the falling thing, the ever resurgent irrational.
Follows it with the science. Laws of nature operative up to limit and then give rebirth to absurd, pre eminence of the irrational –
But get this, transition is not evident.
Thats negative dialectic stuff for finding edge of a transition which numerical runs into gradient
or in science, shooting particles show up where they land, cant see transition, till lands and physical measurement overtakes probability.
Calling it separation for me is new. Posing place of separation, thats new. Poses too are new. And dreaming drawing poses with narrative. Meander in and out of logic as consternates cliche while pushing to find lift beyond it.
Cut and Crack and Luminence Flux.
Someone named Chestov, who Camus is hacking through, is quoted turning to sky and solar system to relieve uncertainty. And slip noose of absurd and stretch arms across pit of hell – ha! absurds too can become overdetermined – get that idea from Modes of Abjection –
Chestov lets lift off, from absurd to free himself from its uncertainty, with gorge spell well of Dantean reach for the mountain top.
This is fun hacking up Camus, et vous too. Whose ear it is makes a bleeding difference.
That was a big discovery when first slid into collaborating with specific Dead Uns, before invaded by rhymers. With whom I drank to death. As rogue rompous flue and heaven and hell bleeding at cracks and where mythics screamers riot as hell. Cracks are toughest.
Would pull up Joyce and Beckett over writing to try and move in on it, but was like periscope from depths reading silence, and fall back and fall back, into a moan with delicacy over its fondling with my shocking scolds and grave trollish imaginings and sunders of contempt, as though sly carriers of fascination could share the fascination with and like them push Miss Piggy through the creepers and reapers for my indigence to get some help. That was more important to me than going out drinking? No – no they were still one. Going out drinking, reading, writing, emanated from the same mystification – Why reading them so much fun.
Always down other side of street trying to capture surface of something respectable because thats what was done, which everyday did something to kill me till had a drink. And could escape that destiny.