(This is Gibberbook One)

              Front matters not
                The man who never blinks
                  Until thoroughly decomposed
                    Let us go then, I and me
                      Banished forever
                    Dim semiotic desires
                  Millimillillimilimeter and Earwicker
                Wipeout
              Very close to harmony
            It was all he had left
          Whisperingly
        Back at the base
      Boredom in limbo
    Where's my moo-cow?
  A sinister gentleman's raincoat
Soupy twist
  Dear dear
    Sage sinography
      I want some plot
        Breaking free
          Wooffle ooffle!
            The Antiplautus and the pluperfect conditional
              Election Mania
                Page 14
                  To the starship Milwaukee
                    Not very good stars
                      Curses
                    Upside, downside
                  Pieces of marmalade
                Hic haec hoc
              Seive sense
            The Sisterhood of Omelette
          Foresty forest
        Evolved from the rain
      What did it all mean?
    No absolutes! No idea!
  An environmentalist's nightmare
Flibbertigibber
  Chapter None
    The moment of truth
      Pitch invasion
        Naranja? Arancia?
          Plubnic burp
            Young Nat Penderby
              Apparatus umbrellicus
                Sic transit arcana mundi
                  In my end is my beginning
                    Everybody weird
                      A really good space filler
                    Orighkinal siggn
                  Language, Timotei!
                Grammatological pap
              Relative madmen
            Vedic doodles
          Rewind
        Into the sunset
      All in the mind
    The absence of his subjectivity
  Dialogue of cowpats
Makes you go kerfazzle
  Policies for the future of the text
    The island of seven pages
      Chinston Wormhill
        Ray Vin Ma'd
          8 out of 10 Wombles
            Still completely
              Interim
                Herring and Crisp
                  Dire critics and nested brackets
                    Quince (Peter)
                      Drang nach Osten
                    Metamorphosis
                  Elk, eek
                Up we shall journey
              Four pages later
            A flyte of limericks
          Mauve with boredom
        No goat on the moon
      The Limerick Squad
    Grandmatology
  Covered in cow
Quite enough determinacy
  Detective commissioner Walrus
    Book virus
      The ice-cap reigns
        Made glorious somewhere TEXT
          The sentence-pede
            Fore legs good
              I love existential quantifiers
                Well-past-its-sell-by-date logic
                  Il n'y a pas d'hors-texte
                    Archaeopteryx
                      Generous irony
                    Limericks — never again
                  Tekstulineto
                Chopped up
              Almost Bowie
            Desiderata
          It's a sign
        Limerick desserts
      Is it a question?
    Staggeringly mad and obtuse
  Beezo whether
Derrideana
  Arcana, Freudiana, and Zxy
    Ten-month-old sick
      Star Trext
        Triptych
          Trip tick
            Trip sick
              Dipstick
                Twentych
                  Krud gibber twaddle tosh
                    The absence of sane
                      Gibbons, pigs and lions
                    He thought he saw
                  Rubbishyat
                Morning activities
              Afternoon activities
            Phallogocentrism
          Evening activities
        Goodnight
      Word association football
    Bless thy five wits
  Synchronicity
Diachronicity, and variants
  The process of history
    The progress of himmel-rot
      Boldly
        Biblical flow
          Monthly moo
            Fish diagram
              Carlsberg Black Label
                Omelette-faced fractals
                  Madasa
                    The pluggandisp of pluggandisp
                      Form, self-referring, is content
                    Dustbin sonnet
                  Arthur in his bin
                Sum pipple
              No God was reified
            Obscurantism is normality
          Outdated metaphysic
        No innuendo
      Full circle
    Yes, you
  Heap big breakfast
Sink stink
  Repressions
    Rudeish bit
      Rubbish bit
        Kayak intestine
          Discarded dogmas
            Twixt one logic and the next
              Edna's approach
                Return of the Pope
                  Raving other
                    Limericks at dawn
                      The fishmonger joke
                    Swiss roll
                  Boustrophedon
                Gravity play
              Alpha es et O
            O Meaningless
          Greek garlic
        O meta-stuff
      Go, Volvo, go!
    Xylophones
  A godalmighty belch
Gyres run on
  Jack and Jill
    Gibberwocky
      His flashing hair!
        Tom Lehrer scansion
          Pericles' Funeral Oration
            Oh frabjous play!
              More pickaxes
                Popular Philosophy
                  Brainium
                    Haddock official
                      What did you think?
                    Inconsequential indigestion
                  The final frontier
                Wellington, to boot
              Stereophonic nothing
            New Cluedo
          All writing is suicidal
        Epitaphs and gribbles
      Death of the Authors
    The final clock
  Are you mad?
Are you madder?
  Are you maddest?
    Are you Liz?
      Art thou Liz?
        Liz who?
          Are you Geoffrey?
            Is you Geoffrey?
              Bonus question
                Are you Simon?
                  Are you barking?
                    Are you ergo?
                      Double-page spread
                    Have you read the book?
                  Thnky fr rdng
                Diaphragms of realitude
              By hook or by crook
            Acknowledgemoulds
          Xedni

Xedni

INDEX

{A full-page drawing of a wooded path snaking off into low hills. Quadrupeds graze in a distant field. Four characters are walking away along the path. The most distant, the character I, is followed by the characters N, D, and E. Each has a body shaped like a blocky letter of the alphabet, with stick feet, four-fingered stick hands, and a head with a simple round hat. In the foreground, the character X stands facing the reader and sticks his tongue out. A creature with rabbity ears pokes its head out of a nearby hole, ejects a visible question mark from its mind, and displays its own long forked tongue.}

{And here ends the First Gibberbook.}

Acknowledgemoulds

ACKNOWLEDGEMOULDS

We would like to thank the following for their help and lack of insistance during the preparation of this boot:

£1,000
    British Petroleum Ltd Plc
    British Rail
    British Beef
    Brutish Behaviour
    Hideossomarne Ghastlitecture
    Kellogg's Nasty Bran Things

£500
    The Floor
    The Kettle
    The Nettle
    John Kettley
    Angus Eayton (Deceased)
    Angus Eayton (D Ceased)
    Ivor the England
    The Pope
    The Poltroon
    Aled Jones

3p
    Mr Acker Bilk and his Career

By hook or by crook

"By hook or by crook,
I'll be last in this book."

"By eggs or by bacon,
I think you're mistaken."

["A way a lone a last a long the"]

            Amen.

            That makes seven.

... which all means that the book is full!

LOOK, NO SPACE!

Full of rubbish (and the letter xi)
----                           ----
----                            --
----                           ----

{tucked into the corner}[negative]

Diaphragms of realitude

UPSIDE-DOWN DIAPHRAGMS OF REALITUDE:

{upside down}

                  author
                 /      |
                /       |
"Actuality"    |   GAP  |
  \        \   V        |
    \       text        |
      \     |  |        |
        \   |  |   change over time
          \ |  V        |
            text        |
            ^  |       /
            |  |     GAP
            ^--V     /
            reader  /
               |   /
               |  /
               V
              TEXT
              ^
              |
              Not bad. However --.
             ____________________/
            |
            v
        ---------
      ("Actuality")
        ---------
           GAP
 _______    |    __________
|       v   v   v          |
| perception (of "author") |
|           |              |
|           v              |
|    thought (text) -------'
|          GAP
|           |
|           v
writing - text (and reading
                by author)
           GAP
            |
            v
    reading (by other)
           GAP
            |
            v
 "perception", impression
 of information, &c (text)
      - paraphrase

    Picasso

Thnky fr rdng

NOW, ADD UP YOUR POINTS BY COMPARING YOURSELF WITH/TO/UNDER THE CORRECT ANSWER:

5.   (a) What book?
1.   (b) {the same sequence of meaningless characters}
√-2.   (c) NONE OF THESE
√-2.   (p) ANY OF THE ABOVE, UNLESS CHINESE.

Let the mattock unfold gently, but do not allow too much pressure to build up beneath the bung. Be careful to add enough zest. Add custard, vinaigrette, petrol and pulp until smelly. Make hay while the Earth shines. Talk proverbs until the cows go bang. If you SCORED more than 94, ask why? Otherwise ask why the word SCORED appears in cApItAlS. Now, here is the last vowel of the book:

        Q

Oh damn. That's a consonant. Slip of the pen. Typing error. No. Writing error. Here, then is the last consonant of the book:

        W

Thnky fr rdng; w hp y hv njyd t ll s mch s w hv htd wrtng t. Nd w hnd vr nw t th vry lst pg...

Have you read the book?

1. Have you read the book?
    (a) Yes.
    (b) No.
    (c) Now, let's not be binary about this...
    (d) What book?
    (α) Have you seen the garden-roller of the policeman's mother?
        (a) Yes.
        (b) No.
        (c) Now, let's be tertiary about this...
        (d) What policeman?
        (א) {meaningless characters}
            (a) Don't speak Hebrew at me.
            (b) It wasn't Hebrew, it was <aagh>
            (c) Don't be hexadecimal!
            (d) What?
            (ж) Yes.

2. Push the switch marked "QSL" before connecting to mains.

3. Fold AC to FG without sneezing.

4. Do not pass OG. Do not collect 900 złoty.

5. Collect 900 złoty. Sort that one out.

6. Paint the marigolds with green sawdust before ——

—— HEY! I THOUGHT THIS WAS MEANT TO BE A KWESTIONNAIRE! WHOA THERE, LESLIE — WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

So back to the quest
    (a) for the Holy Grail
    (b) for the Wholly Great
    (c) for the Holey Grake
    (d) forehead
    (@) "My name is (not) Michael Caine".

Double-page spread

{written across two pages}

WELCOME TO THE LAST DOUBLE-PAGE SPREAD SURVEY OF THE BOOK!

ANSWER THESE QUESTIONS INCORRECTLY (INK-ERECTLY?) TO DETERMINE:

    (a) whether you have read the book
    (b) whether you have "read" the Book
    (c) whether you have understood anything much
    (d) weather news with Ian "Helloo" McCaskill

[SCORE 5 FOR A WRIGHT ANSWER, 10 FOR A RONG ONE, AND 2598302 FOR AN ABSOLUTELY (W)R... SOMEWHERE IN BETWIXT (Paddy Pending 1992) ONE.]

Are you ergo?

9. What does the babel-fish prove?
    a) The possibility of translation
    b) The universal interconnectedness of everything
    c) The existence/non-existence of God
    d) Fish!

10. Who should be dictator of the world?
    a) Geoffrey
    b) David Icke
    c) Mr. Mad
    d) Hegel.

If you have answered any of these questions correctly you are barking ergo Simon. For bonus points — which answer in the above survey is a paraphrase of Nietzsche? And how many sheep?

Are you barking?

6. Anyone who glues fifty-one woodlice onto a photograph of John Major with toothpaste and sends it to Anatoly Karpov with a Mother's Day card saying "Like my new moustache?"?
    a) Must know Anatoly Karpov's address
    b) Mad
    c) Waggish and satirical
    d) Barking odd!

7. What is the meaning of life?
    a) A particular and very rare type of death
    b) 42
    c) Context dependent
    d) Life. Don't talk to me about life.

8. What is leeming?
    a) Attempting to establish one's physical orientation in relation to gravity when extremely drunk or just stupid.
    b) A presenter of children's television who transforms shoeboxes and detergent bottles by pasting pieces of cotton wool to them (which subsequently fall off and adhere to various parts of the leeming's anatomy) and by cutting small polygonal holes in them.
    c) Amusing babies by means of grotesque facial contortions.
    d) A misspelling for "lemming".

Are you Simon?

And now if you're not Liz and you're not Geoffrey (poor you), then maybe you're Simon — or perhaps you're just a wal(rus). Here's how to test whether you are Simon.

(1) Who is uncle Fred and how long did he spend in bed?
    (a) Fred Harris; 12 hours
    (b) Frederick the Great; 1 hour
    (c) King Alfred — toasted teacakes
    (d) Fred — 18 months

(2) Whose line is it, anyway?
    (a) Clive Anderson's.
    (b) Ronald Reagan's.
    (c) Who am I to answer the question?
    (d) Fish.

(3) Who is justified and ancient?
    (a) Liz's gran.
    (b) Liz.
    (c) Socrates.
    (d) Moo-moo!

4. Where's the Fishy?
    a) In his sleevies
    b) In a black hole
    c) Is it?
    d) Milky milky

5. Wibble?
    a) Wibble!
    b) That is grammatological, captain
    c) Milky milky
    d) Treee

Bonus question

CONSTERNATION! You have a 1:3 chance of being Geoffrey unless you answered d) throughout, in which case you are string, infinite regresses, "Glas", Bartok raving artistic merit, there isn't any Latin, they are cool God, MAD, which you have a 4:3 chance of being, anyway.

BONUS QUESTION: finish this quotation "correctly" —

"... there is no domain of the psychic without —"

a) Fish
b) Freud
c) Text
d) A marmalade and cucumber pizza, without mayonnaise.

Answer at the top of p.1.

Is you Geoffrey?

6. What is the difference between Abba & Beethoven?
    a) Beethoven is dead.
    b) Beethoven was deaf and unfortunately couldn't hear his own compositions. Fortunately he couldn't hear Abba, either.
    c) It is entirely a matter of subjective opinion.
    d) Artistic merit. Beethoven was good.

7. What is the difference?
    a) Différance.
    b) It's the opposite of the "the same".
    c) Time.
    d) There isn't any.

8. Which language will be imposed by the World Government as compulsory for all in 2004?
    a) English.
    b) American.
    c) Esperanto.
    d) Latin.

9. Why are turtle-necks "cool"?
    a) Subjective opinion.
    b) It is impossible to wear a tie with them.
    c) They are really turquoise.
    d) They are cool.

10. Who is going to be world dictator in 2004?
    a) Geoffrey.
    b) Geoffrey.
    c) Margaret Thatcher.
    d) God (≈/ Ken Dodd).

Are you Geoffrey?

Survey 57 — Or are you Geoffrey?

1. Which of the following is the most relevant?
    a) Shakespeare.
    b) History.
    c) Global warming.
    d) String.

2. Which of the following do you find most alarming?
    a) "The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb".
    b) Feminist Literary Theorists.
    c) Liz's Gran.
    d) Infinite regresses.

3. Is the "definite book"

    a) The Bible,
    b) Finnegeans Wake,
    c) Anything containing historical truth,
    d) Glas?

4. Which of the following is the most civilized composer?
    a) Monteverdi.
    b) Ennio Morricone.
    c) Michael Oldfield (sic).
    d) Bartok.

5. Which of the following is the most "cool"?
    a) The refrigerator.
    b) Omsk.
    c) Abba.
    d) "Raving".

Liz who?

If you scored (d) on all, then... CONGRATULATIONS, you are Liz — or are you? And aren't these denotations/representations of person(s) somewhat limited?

If not, then you're not Liz — at least not at the moment — perhaps you once were.

? Liz who ?

Art thou Liz?

6. Who is the Home Secretary?
    (a) K. Baker.
    (b) K. Kendall.
    (c) A slug.
    (d) Dont know — who translated the Rubayat of Omar Khayyam?

7. Why do old records sound so good?
    (a) Good interference.
    (b) Tasteful record sleeves.
    (c) Cool music.
    (d) Fab conductors.

8. What is your favourite food?
    (a) Raw carrots.
    (b) Goats.
    (c) Booze & cows.
    (d) Pizzas!

9. Are you — ?
    (a) An evil genius for a better tomorrow.
    (b) A better genius for an evil tomorrow.
    (c) An aardvark.
    (d) A text in process.

10. What is your favourite term of criticism?
    (a) It's bloody awful.
    (b) "Not on".
    (c) "Well out of order".
    (d) "Uncivilized".

Are you Liz?

Survey 2: Are you Liz? (which many might regard as coterminous with "mad")

1. Which of the following oppresses you most?
    (a) The eradication of the ozone layer.
    (b) The prospect of nuclear war.
    (c) They gave Derrida an honorary degree.
    (d) Gran^©™.

2. Which of the following turns you on most?
    (a) Burt Reynolds.
    (b) Gran.
    (c) The tree of life.
    (d) Text™.

3. Who is your favourite writer?
    (a) Denis Wheatley.
    (b) Thucydides^®.
    (c) Liz.
    (d) Derrida: but it is rather a limited question.

4. What is truth?
    (a) God™.
    (b) Beauty^©.
    (c) Why do you ask?
    (d) It depends: isn't it all a bit binary?

5. How would you describe your garb?
    (a) Outdated.
    (b) Outmoded.
    (c) Out of order.
    (d) Original.

Are you maddest?

Scoring

a) = 50
b) = -0.5796301717 {recurring}
c) = 4
d) = 337
j) = 56,000,000½;
z) = z + t² helps you to draw nice right angles.

If your score is a number, you are mad.

People whose scores are the same as the number of a freight train they once saw in Didcot at 3.17 in the afternoon are sad.

People without scores probably don't have language either and are irrelevant.

People reading this sentence are mad, unless they fail to read the end. Except that they are anyway.

I'm raving pronoun.

Are you madder?

6. Q. What is the capital of Tibet?
    a) I don't know.
    b) I wanted Sport and Leisure.
    c) Meaning.
    d) Finnegans Wake.
    z) T.

7. Q. What is the difference between a dog?
    a) One of its legs is both the same.
    b) Iterability.
    c) Tuesday.
    d) Both of them talk to itself, like me.
    z) The Will to Power.

8. Q. Why did Julius Caesar cross the Rubicon (?)
    a) To get to the other side.
    b) Because he was intimately implicated in the chicken.
    c) Naive faith in history.
    d) I don't know if this is a rhetorical question or not.
    z) To try to have all the little blue squares on one side, all the little red squares on the other side, all the little white squares on the completely other side &c.

9. Q. Are you mad?
    a) Yes.
    b) Yes.
    c) Barking textual.
    d) No, I am.
    e) They have other noses, too.

Are you mad?

The Book Readership Survey: Are You Mad?

1. Q. Do you talk to yourself?
    a) Sometimes.
    b) Only under stress.
    j) Only in Esperanto ^®©.
    d) So long as it doesn't make me feel self-present.
    z) It depends if we disagree.

2. Q. When you walk down the street, how do other people react?
    a) They ignore you. On purpose.
    b) Warily.
    c) They dial 999 and call an ambulance / the police.
    d) They dial 999 and call the coastguard.
    z) They grow extra ears.

3. Q. How do you feel about your parents?
    a) Mildly irritated.
    b) Kind of magnanimous and sentimental.
    c) Oedipal.
    d) Electrostatic.
    z) Tree.

4. Q. What is the meaning of meaning?
    a) I don't know.
    b) Facts.
    c) Infinite implication.
    d) Tree.
    z) Meaning.

5. Q. Why are you completing this Survey?
    a) Because I'm bored.
    b) Because I'm mad.
    c) I don't know.
    d) Facts.
    z) I want to know whether I am mad or not.

The final clock

As this sorry book draws to a close
Let us pause awhile and reflect
What is the truth — who knows?
At least it should get some respect.

There's a lot of mad women about
They write a whole lot of words
But of one thing there can be no doubt
Their theories are for the birds.

Men are frequently insecure
It can make them strange and eccentric
Of meaning profoundly unsure
Though their discourse is phallogocentric.

As the laughter fades to cheese
Half a book can seem like years
Here's a list of cast and crew
Boil them up into a stew.

The morning didn't start, the noon was noonless
And after it got dark, the night was moonless
The sundial needed winding, the final clock
Was slain; Time burbled like a jabberwock.

That is illogical, Captain, and so are the mome raths.

Death of the Authors

It seems there's far too little saneness
In this sad old book we've writ,
What the readers want is humour,
All they ever get is wit.
The public are depressed
But there's a way
We can make them happy-smiley —
Kill off the authors today.
Yes it's Death of the Authors today
Done out like a game of Cluedo
Which of these three writers will go first
In our game of textual judo?
Death of the Authors today
Club them down with a negative space
So that of this murder's origin
There's no trace.

@£"";$zz --> Error at line 16 ¡¡¡*

Stop Press... Author found dead in Barthes in Library Stop
Long Live the Text Beginnigan

The Ed's a duck
And the author's
Always already
Deady.

Epitaphs and gribbles

"To be or not to be? Is it a question?" said Prof. H. I. Storicist.

"Good lord! Dead men do soliloquize!" And, then a more worrying thought. "Live men don't — unless I'm an actor. All the world's a stage! I wish I could think of something that wasn't a quotation."

"You would have just thought you did, if you had thought of it, but you didn't — anyway, it doesn't matter!" said the Rabbi, "What a very odd suicide note — didn't know the old buffer could write anything that interesting. Probably not his fault. Swans sing before they die — Oh death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling... Perhaps it has something to do with the problematics of the epitaph."

And to the Professor's silent horror, she started to make notes.

A limerick rhyming in "wibble"
Is really a bit of a fiddle
Well that didn't rhyme
But I'll mention in time
A woodlouse-like thing called a "gribble"! (Honest.)

If... this is Thursday, it must be Budapest.
        [Found poem: Michael Berk] surely {tick}Dorothy

All writing is suicidal

The Contingent Closure

Murderer: Prof. H. I. Storicist

Weapon: The book

"Motive": To implicate the Rabbi, &c, and validate the form of the book. A fitting end.

Verdict: suicide.

Quotation. "All writing is suicidal." Maud Ellmann

"? Suicidal for whom ?"

"¿Suicidia a quién?"

Either.

New Cluedo

I think that's quite enough dialectical dialogue.

I don't, replied Arthur, but changing his mind, he gunned down his interlocutor in cold blood — or was it the bedroom? With the ice pick.

{"NEW CLUEDO" board, featuring the DRAWING ROOM (with a stick man labelled "picture"), the LIBRARY, the KITCHEN, the TOILET, the BATH, and the SHOWER}

Who killed Prof. H. I. Storicist, who was found dead in the bath (which had subsequently (if that isn't too diachronous) been moved to the library)?

Was it Rabbi de Konstruktionist, the well known female Jewish intellectual, with the ice-axe? Or was she too busy having a fling with Mrs Fem Inists, the Irish wolfhound (sorry, surrealist)?

Alternatively it could have been Liz Double-barrel, with the shotgun! Another suspect is Sajmĉjo Esperanto with the PIV. One thing's for sure — it wasn't Geoffrey How — he doesn't exist; nor was it any other Geoffrey {the Y has a flourish} © ?

Stereophonic nothing

"My hovel is a real mildew milieu [mill-you? Ed!#@]," said the froggly whatsit. Sir Isaac was both the same [as half an Ed, E] — No! No! 9! [nõ]! as half his length. My shark's got no ears — How does he smell? — He doesn't / She doesn't. What? Sarajevo's on the olds again; bread-bomb, barnacle-bucket, bombastic-bastardly Muttley. I say, I speak, I utter, why is a poodle like a poodle? Neither has a brain, but bother of them are completely oth. [Er..., Ed.]

We interrupt this broadcast to bring you NOTHING.

Stereophonic NOTHING.

Wellington, to boot

One man's burp is the same man's burp.

"You have met your Wellington, this time, Mr Newt!" said Arthur. (Who?)

"And you have met your Napoleon, to boot" said Sir Isaac (what?).

No — not Watts, who?

Either Arthur or Wellington or what's-his-name.

But I just said it wasn't.

So? You could be lying.

That doesn't count!

Oh really, and up to how much?

I don't know, and let's not bring how into it!

Sir Geoffrey?

No, Sir Isaac.

But there isn't anyone called Sir Isaac Howe.

How do you know?

But I don't! If I knew someone called Sir Isaac Howe, they would exist.

[Triumphant] Ideal-ist! Ideal-ist!! You've lost, and, what's more [than whom? (Ed.)] — you don't exist!

Who says?

What's the difference?

Neither of them are both the same.

The final frontier

There once was a loony who stood in
A bucket of rancid rice pudding,
No one really knew why
(Though to find out, they'd die!)
So they guessed that he'd just put his foot in
It.

There was a young lass of Dorset
With interpretations she used to force it
It was so contrived
No matter how hard she strived
She couldn't fit the text in her corset.

There's no one quite like Thatcher
And I'm sure you will agree
There's no one who can match her
Except for Bill Pertwee.

        to be continued

(I'm too tired to write anything (un)helpful in here.)

THE FINAL FRONTIER = {a pointy-eared face with a third ear between its eyes}

? Neither.

Inconsequential indigestion

This limerick never did display much sanity
It has no brain, and it is less than jaunty
Although it has fish and oil
It has no liver at all —
Allusion ate it with a nice Chianti.   ⁰/₁₀

There once was a limerick which didn't rhyme or scan
And was unnaturally preoccupied with its own internal organs
Its otherness insistent
Was less than consistent (rhymes)
And altogether gave language itself indigestion.   ¹¹/₁₀

A limerick self referential
Appeared to have formal potential
But though form is content
The form of this one went
On tedious and inconsequential. (True)   ⁰/₀

By contrast this last of the four
Has a plot line you cannot ignore
From the Fall to Salvation
And in flashback — Creation —
It still proves a bit of a bore. (Hēllò)   93.2%

What did you think?

Codliver Oil! Codliver Oil! Codliver Oil and String!

Paper the light blue touch and ignite previously

Eat the idiom! Hair soup! Jugged fly!

Fish saucer, buttress machine

Blankety ping, Pinkety bong, Plinkey plonk, Blankety BANG

Mechanical writing

Blue the paper light and touch interminably

Ooo! What did you think I meant?

Did you think I? But only as the U of I or the I of U.
I meant? Good question.
Think I meant? Let's not disturb the cogito.
Ooo! What did you? You don't have to prove anything.
What did you think? Words! Words! Words!
Did you think?

Haddock official

A grouse once whose surname sumame? was haddock
Quite terrified by Fanny Craddock
Filled his shoes with cement and
Said "That's not what I meant", and
"There's kangaroos in the top paddock!"

There once was a chap who about
The referential admitted no doubt
His naive faith in history
Was rather a mystery too large a tail? tale?
Preposterous and inside-out!

A girl with the name Beaumont Bissell
Found an oil-covered eye made her whistle,
So in terrible fear,
She replaced that old see(e)r
With a haddock, which made it official.

To "explain":

         OIL or O{eye}L
                   |
                   V
    O"FISH"L or O{fish}L

Brainium

All signifiers are born free — yet everywhere they are in chains. drains?

Word word word word word. You have nothing to lose but your brains. drains?

An adventurous chap filled his cranium
With haddock, light ale and uranium
When asked for a reason
He said, "Grouse aren't in season,
And I don't know what became of my brainium. brumnmnm?

Brain-I-um. The brain is able to posit a specific/general subjectivity ("I") through forgetting ("um") the production of that subjectivity, which is in the context of the object ("U") and its contemplatin ("m[mm..]"). The "overall" context is poetico-rhetorical. You asked.

Popular Philosophy

{magazine cover, with a picture of a face wearing spectacles, and labelled "a popular philosopher"}

// POPULAR PHILOSOPHY
(if that isn't a contradiction in terms)
(bi-monthly or randomly, whichever happens first)

INSIDE

"Why I like infinite regresses"
"Vicious circles and how to avoid them"
"Nazism — what is it?" P de M
Top 10 conundrums
How to make your own ethical system to cut out and keep

OUTSIDE

The answer to the universe
Why trains are always late
Where is Lord Lucan
Who is the 5 o'clock hero
Deconstruction made easy

buy this issue & get a free signifier! //

But... the inside is the outside!

More pickaxes

Why can't we have more pickaxes?
And so you shall.

There once was a feminist writer
Who was also a pugnacious fighter
She wielded an ice axe
While having sex [?sax]
But she'd have been better off with a mitre.

Oh frabjous play!

Of water-clocks and printing-press, Oh Muses shriek your song! Of Walruses and Carpenters and what's the French for gong? The forty-seventh root of eight is difficult to smell, particularly (if like me) you've lost your nose as well. "And hast thou spain the Jelly-Knock? Come to my arms, my custard-cream? Oh frabjous play! Calloon! Belay (that order, Mr Dream!)" "I have large writing," spoke the Text, in incarnated letters; but Rory Bremner went insane and worshippéd his betters. 'Twas brilliant, but the tovey slimes did gibber gibber gibber wabe, all gibber were the gibber gibber

{End of the double-page spread}

WHY DID I WRITE THAT??

Pericles' Funeral Oration

My hat it has twelve fishes, Twelve yawnos has my song, And had it not twelve fishes, It would be rather long. But have I written yet enough To drive all readers sane? Or mad? Or green? Or curling-tongs? Do tell me, where's my brain? As Basil Fawlty once remarked, "I've only got one face" — well, actually, as you can tell, it was just a negative space. "To be or not to be", That is (dear friends) a quotation; and now we will upstanding be for Pericles' Funeral Oration. The scholars know not what it means or whether it means any—thing; they could have gone to Crossroads with a major hit for Benny. And so I write more rubbish down, not knowing where I'm going, And so I write more hsibbur up, not going where I'm knowing. I wonder if you've ever learnt to count to five hundred and five? I know I haven't, but then again, I'm dead whilst still alive.

Tom Lehrer scansion

My garden holds a thousand wells, my snail has died of maggots, I flew to Amsterdam tonight and lost a piece of baggage. Does baggage rhyme with cabbage? I don't think I would dare to be so bold and risk it here, instead beware his swirling hair! Once upon John Kettley's mum, A fish-hook I did spot, it felt like several plates of knives, A-smothered deep in snot. Oh childish childish sense of hu—mour and Tom Lehrer scansion; beware his hair, his mouldy stare, Industrial Expansion! Shall I compare thee to a gnat that flies straight up one's nose? I'd rather I didn't, thank you, good riddance! Does this make much sense? Who knows? "Many of these are bad for the hell, except for the literary few. Discuss. Disgust." So spake John Sta—pleton who was made of glue. I'm starting to gibber now (it's rather alarm—ing, I'm sure you'll without doubt agree) they're coming to take me to the new funny farm that they've built on the minor North Sea.

His flashing hair!

In Xanadu did Newton John a horrid shrieking scream declare, where Popacatepetl hid his foaming eyes, his flashing hair! His foaming hair, his mad baboon! His semi-puzzled goat! His grebing grobbled gark-nailed grunk! His badly creaking throat! Unto the world did Kubla Khan the latest football scores read out, where Alf the Garnet (racist git) was left alone to shout: "Innit marvlous? Innit great? Innit bloody naff?" He screamed and yelled, he oozed and smelled, and licked away the chaff. 'Twas in a rotten punt they met, All dribbling blue and gooey, the boat collapsed, they (sunken) lapsed into the Cherwell (pooy). My love is like a red red rope, It's used for making nooses, I tied it to my horse-drawn head, And now push up the roses. Er, daisies — that is what I meant, Oh dear! Intentionalist! Beware, beware his sliming hair, especially when he's pissed. He staggers round from door to door enquiring of their health, their clothes, their shoes, their toothpaste tubes, but least of all their wealth.

Gibberwocky

{Here begins a double-page spread of solid text}

Once upon a kettledrum, a little man called Moke was startled by an earing fish who pigged them in a poke; the idiom meant little, much or somewhere in between, to this poor yak from Wormington, whose hair was painted green. Beware the Gibberwock, my son! The jaws that moan, the screaming gap! Beware the Textext-bird and shun the frumious Book-o'-crap! One, two; two, one! And fiddledy-dum! His vorpal hair went snickety-crump; he left it read, and with its bed, he went a-twiddly bump. 'Twas bilgey and the slimy texts did gyre and grumble in the quag; all grungy were the Borodins, and the mauve clothes outslog. "Mine's a Moppo!" "What's your poison?" (startled) came the words, but Carry On was carried off, and locked away with noise on. My rhymes are getting worse and worse, there's still no end in sight, although this biro's running out, except it's not — all right?

Jack and Jill

TEXT ^{gibber garble words blah}

Text free zone

[This will not (therefore) have been a text.]

There is no such thing as a zero-focalised walrus. "Where's the walrus?"

    There once was a fragile theory
    Whose proponents made one quite weary
    They cried "It's a project"
    But really, with respect
    It just makes all of us rather bleary.

Jack and Jill went up (and by that I mean ascended) the hill, mountain, slope, valley, gorge, walrus. Their purpose [or τέλος, applying the criteria of a non-contextual-ethical-political-infraacademical term] in so comporting themselves (coup d'état) was to seek, get, acquire, obtain (say) a bucket, vessel, container of water, fluid liquid, bananas. Jack slipped — perhaps forced, though I am unwilling to use this word, by a repressive police force — and fell (coup de grace) into the well, um, er, mmm. Then (at this particular moment in the spatio-temporal continuum) Jill followed him to his untimely death, fate, τέλος.

εν μεν γαρ τωι τέλέι η αρχή μοι.

Gyres run on

"Gyres run on" as W.B. Yeats would say.

On what?

Electricity, presumably. Or gas. Possibly petrol. Methylated spirits, even.

They'd need to be!

I'm not so sure. I suspect methylated metaphysics would do.

Do what?

Well — er — not a lot. Gyrate.

Really.

No.

A godalmighty belch

When I have seen by Time's fell hand debased
The rich-proud loss of outworn buried dung,
When sometimes language structures are replaced,
Grammatically from the mortal tongue.
When I have seen the hungry bison gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
I yawn exhausted suffering in my brain,
For writing high-flown sonnets is a chore.
When I have seen such international hate,
Or spoken many times of mystic health,
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate
That Time will make a godalmighty belch.
This thought is as a death which cannot fog,
We bring you "Famous People on the Bog".

Shall I compare thee to a pile of —

        OH, SHUT UP NOW!

And if a little more patience you would have
We'd bring you "Famous People on the Lav".

Xylophones

Enough of such parodic poetic pieces — not to mention alliteration.

There once was a philosophical debate
Whose force would not abate
It raged and it raged
All night it savaged
But its strength lay in its sanity rebate.

There's nothing quite like philosophy
And I'm sure you will agree
I'd sooner go on a shopping spree
To the island of Tahiti.

(I think my entry had best cease [and by that I should indicate — that is, imply somewhat directly (directement) — some form of ending (τελος) in a final sense of sorts, kinds, types] here, there, or everywhere... I refer my reader to Signifiers, Existentialism and Xylophones...)

Very dry and witty.

A chap whose metatext parodic
Was cryptic, ludic and ironic,
Condescending, amused,
Was really confused
And inclined to give up and say "Sod it!"

A young man whose reactioning stance
Would give no new notion a chance
Found himself mistaken —
The shock was heart-breaking
And he was overcome by différrance.

Go, Volvo, go!

O hark! How weird! How green and beard
The lawns of elfland faintly mowing!

The drizzle falls on shopping malls
And out-of-town Tesco superstores
The long rain drips on monthly trips
To the cash-and-carry with Uncle Barry.
Go, Volvo, go! Set the wild echoes flying.
Go, Volvo — Radio 2 is dying, dying, dying.

    4 Tennyson read Benetton.

Half a league, half a league, half a league onward
Into the Food Hall rode the six hundred
Cans to the right of them, cans to the left of them
Some with baked beans in them
Others with stew!

O meta-stuff

Why is thy pride so brimming with new verse?
In various more or less appropriate forms?
Because, though gibberish, it could be worse
Beset with "fact" and ideological norms.
Let all the world in every corner sing —
Elated because we are raving mad
Thou art as well — fish changes everything
Ontology and plumbing. I'm quite glad
Yet sorry for this startling interruption
Obsessed almost by crisis existential
Undone, the text is still self referential
Though lacking in the "D"-word; its corruption
Writes itself down as signifiers do
O meta-stuff and WIBBLE TO YOU TOO!

Greek garlic

"Hello and welcome to 'Pronouncing Amusing Greek Words With'. And today I shall be pronouncing amusing Greek words with Dr. Anthony Clare. Today's amusing Greek word is:

φυσιγγούσθαι
[p^hy:siŋgo:st^haj]

which means

TO BECOME EXCITED BY EATING TOO MUCH GARLIC."

(honestly!)

And tomorrow we will be physythingywhat-you-said with Keith Chegwin to discover if he's really a vampire. Blunt silver stakes at the ready!

O Meaningless

{In proper ink, not biro for once}
Why is my verse so brimming of new pride?
So full of variation and quick change?
Why with the time am I glancing aside
To new-found structures, and arrangements strange?
Why write I in a round, never the same,
And overuse invention in the text,
That no words mine do ever tell my name,
Shifting their style, not knowing whither next?
O Meaningless I always write of you,
And you and gibber rest my argument:
So all my best words lack cohesions through,
Spending for first what has been never spent:
For as the sun is daily old and new
We bring you "Famous People On The Loo."

Damn, I lost it at the end! Oh well, I guess it's back to the old biroid lifestyle.

Alpha es et O

{Forming the shape of the letter α, from bottom right round the loop to top right:}

Once   upon   a time   there   was   the   end.   And   then   it all   just   began   again,   like   the   muesli   dance   of the   fireflies   (Opus 92).   Emily   had a   cat,   and   his   name   was Bagpuize.   Bagpuize,   Bagpuize,   soggy   old   Bag-   -puize,   crappy   and a   bit   naff   at

{Forming the shape of the letter ω, from top left to top right:}

the   arm   pits.   But   Emily   loved   him,   hugged   him,   and   devoured   him   for   breakfast   in a   way   that   can   never   become   legal.   Once   (or was   it   twice?)   below   a space   there   was a   little   structure   called   Phree   Vurst,   and   Emily   loved   it.   THE   BEGENDING.

        "Alpha es et Ō,
                Alpha es et Ō!"

{Forming a question mark, with "a" as its dot:}

Symbol   of   all   I   wish   I   knew,   polka   dot   under   a

{Forming brackets around the question mark:}

CURL   ICUE

Gravity play

{Spiralling clockwise outwards, interspersed with the words "READ THIS AND YOU'LL READ ANYTHING!":}

"A periphrastic study in a worn out poetical fashion." Because the origin is always a trace! Not know I here from go? The mistake was to mime closure to start, as though reasoning, from the outside and work in. The outside is the inside. Redundancy of classification. So you think the text is a circle or a regress, {the words break away from the spiral, float up the side of the page, and bob upside down at the top} collapsing out of any order or {upside down} inverted. But it defies even the laws of gravity to scandalize and immeasurably enrich SPLIT INFINITIVE all contexts with linguistic play.

MADMEN SAY POPACATEPETL (rates 5 on 1-4 scale)
TO BAGPUIZE.
(OR NOT TO BAGPUIZE...)

Boustrophedon

Lps. Given. Is it?

Frankie writes (because deceased) — Do logical positivists mean no, and does it matter? Bagpuize to you too, with side order of mango chutney.

βουστροφηδόν (Gk from Snakes & Ladders) [or Oxen & Benders] (or something)

Swiss roll

{Roadsign:}

// Kingston Bagpuize         4
    (on a scale of 1 to 4 for silly names)

Follow {roundabout} signs for

INFINITE REGRESS (and
stops to VICIOUS CIRCLE) // <-- SIGN!!

Logical positivists say NO to text before madness.
Surrealists say Bagpuize to madness.
Frankie says nothing, 'cos he's dead.

{Spiralling clockwise inwards:}

This excerpt of text has determined that it will not be confined within the rigid boundaries of lines, even if it is more awkward to read things when they are inscribed βουστροφαδων. But there you have it — this is a rad text — not to be trifled with, to be deconstructed as your peril --> indeed this text comprises a self-enacting, self-aware, hip-hop, ice-cool, dudish, well adjusted and contextualized item, even if it does now resemble a swiss roll.

{At the centre of the spiral:}

Where do we go from here — I know not!

The fishmonger joke

Once upon a time there was a tree with seven hats, also five noses. But then, perhaps one couldn't call it a tree. It didn't. But then it didn't call anything anything, even though anything was, which it probably wasn't, which just shows you. Not much. Never mind. Anyway, there was this tree, but it had four legs as well. In fact it is so confusing I am not going to write any more about it.

        Spool spool (oops!)

"There was this tree, right, with seven elephantine probosces and eighty-seven washing-machine attachments, and it went into a pub, right, and there was a goat in there buying a packet of crisps, and the tree went up to the bar, shouting 'Where's the money?' and this old bloke, right, sitting at the bar in a puddle of beer-belly, he said, 'Stop shouting, you old tree!', and the barman says 'Not today thanks, I'm a fishmonger!'"
        (Martian Joke Magazine 1993)

"Thou art a fishmonger!" said Hamlet, and with that historic utterance, spotted the audience. "Yikes!" he said, in anticipatory citation.

Limericks at dawn

A girl by the name of Beaumont Bissell
Once accidentally trod on a thistle
She cried out in distress
"This isn't a text"
And went back to listen to Harrison Birtwhistle.

An optimistic chap called Greatrex
Had an inadequate appreciation of context
He wasn't very good with rhyme, either
And metre caused him problems as well
He still wanted to be world dictator. Whatever next!

Raving other

"The rains in Spain fall mainly in the plain" (Shaw)

            "Not so!" (Sure?)

"Is Spain anyway?" (Uncertain)

"Boo!" (Trad.)

"Boo boop-i-doo" (Marilyn Monroe)

"Yikes!" (Scooby-Doo)

"How!" (Geronimo, attrib.)

"Wibbly wobbly plibble splonge" (Rolf Harris)

Anyone who smothers their brother with their mother — raving other!"

Return of the Pope

2 more approaches

"Extraordinary" — D. Coleman

"Great, smashing, super" — J. Bowen

"representative fractions of the mind" (Northern Expo)

"Barcelona! When the wind comes rolling down the plain" (Oxpo 92)

"Grunge the bastards" (The Pope)

The Pope has returned! Exalt! Exalt! Oh ye who have no hair!

And the third day he rose again from the bed, and ascended in a milkfloat, crying "Wholly, wholly, wally! Inconsistent and insane. Thou art nothing like Ken Dodd! Heaven and earth are full of thy beetroots. Amen. Are they?"

    And the firmament fell back into the sea
    Except it didn't, for our very God
    Had omitted the invention of gravity
    Hallelujah! And how very odd.