Re Novella working on: Subliterate Swoons and a Side of Dead
Narrative Dynamic and the Plus Age Expressive
Rhyming occasionally touches after particles with Joyce. But it is kept relatively to minimum. Rhyme is allowed in, as a generator. As a butting in of allegorical trajectories unraveling across the fourth wall. Confronts both phrase and rhyme as an open hunt for possibilities in linking and thinking.
The approach does not assume any singular hierarchy for the allegorical. For instance, the rhymer sublimer is linked to the aquatic, as something of a mermaid — like Clarice Lispector’s Aqua Vive. Caught spinning as if atop a water fountain, with the burning man, burning heart, burning mind as a struggling soul of an indefatigable curiosity whose undercurrents sink into the limitless as a river run, as a steal through meta and allegory, amid gushes and tremors of language.
In that way it is a Plus Age book (post post modern). As relevé, criss crossing allegoricals that mysteriously embed via mythic, mystic, philosophy, religion, math — meta and the infinite. Invoking an expressive style, that is representative for me of living in the Plus Age.
The rhetoric is mostly European — but there are Asian and Middle Eastern religions infested in it, along with many things native to the Americas. As it is also influenced by fabless, by animal stories, by fem bots, and the filmic and pornographic.
Indeed, in some ways, I am seeking a kind of lang bang burlesque girly flow show, while also suspended in a repleteness of beauty and a sea of negative.
The absurd is addressed as something of a drunkeness with horror, unraveling into delusions of hope and madness, as a rimbaudian escapee, aching with beauty banality desire and the condiments death (chess and the Fell Inni).
Venus if You will
I see the book as partially being held together under influence of Clarice Lispector’s approach to metaphysics — going off into problems in Philosophy with Venus if You will.
As to say, willingly, to take up a certain rhetorical level of philosophy and its codex, as a debate and an acute paradox but not as an academic. As a foray in fiction.
The story, at its bottom is (like in Proust) is an impossible love story. That is allegorically under heavy spread of Dante, the World Religions, French Poets, bit of Burroughs mixed with Genet. Yet, falling through desire as something a sacred fall, and hitting the skitz again and again.
It basically evolves from astonishment, at the endless beauty of sacred marl and the martyrdoms. In that respect especially, it is a “divine” comedy. And a motion sickness.
The notion of “sickness” is rhetorical, and elevated to language substitutability, an anguish that is without center, caught up in a wilderness of superfluousness, wedged between windiness and wasteland, and roughened up by a rawness at edges that evoke a pathos of oblivion.
A restless melancholy of longings trapped in the absurd, and the mighty flighty metaphoric, as questions with the philosophical arise and fall of absolute. Amid sudden sussages of rhyme, that fuel the narrative, and try to trail map “the plus.”