Made glorious somewhere TEXT

Richard III opened the book to find himself confronted by a TEXT TEXT TEXT applying the pillow firmly TEXT and a spoonful TEXT of custard. Apologies for TEXT the interruptions — the book has TEXT indeed caught a TEXT virus — not very TEXT surprising, really.

Now is the content of our disparate text made glorious somewhere by this proper name. Now is the context of our desperate name made glorious Shakespeare by this proper text. Now is the subtext of our aspirant glory made proper Shakespeare by this textual name?

"No, I would not be made, not mad sweet Heaven!"

Ambition pole-vaulted straight into the Other.

{Mirror writing} "Life, don't talk to me about Life!" it said.

The ice-cap reigns

"Where's the fishy?" inquired Karsill for the second thyme.

"Where's my growbag?" inquired Mr Stranger-Sort-Of-Potato, who didn't.

"Only me!" said Mr You-Don't-Want-To-Sniff-That, who couldn't possibly have.

The world ended for about the sixteenth time that week (which was weird for a Wednesday).

In one universe, it is always ending. The metaphysical has no guard rail, like a perilous escalator. The five has no three, being irreducible. This time it won't — promise!

"Whirled in that destructive fire / Which burns before the ice-cap reigns."

"But wouldn't it snow?" corrected Arthur.

"Be thankful you're not a poetic subject," Professor Carswell responded. "A pun like that and you might die of hypothermia."

Book virus

"Pizza pizza pozza, wear the barleymow" (Derridan)

"Mey the bingly bongly bananabrain goggggg" (Derk)

"Surrventro-uf t as

                            b

                                k

                                    l

                                    u

                                        m

{The letters pour out of the sentence, landing in a jumbled heap at the foot of the page}

That isn't supposed to happen, unless the book has a computer virus.

Detective commissioner Walrus

They were doomed — and this they knew, all too well. Detective commissioner Walrus, having been dragged from retirement, not to mention the grave, was called upon to investigate a terrifying case of signifiers running riot in Little and Great Giddy. They had snatched milk bottles from fridges, and seriously confused numerous inhabitants. But another dimension made the case still more dangerous — the involvement of the deadly RAVING MAD (q.v.), setting up a communist conspiracy to seize the marginal fascist seat of the Giddies (by stealing the swingometer). In the course of the case, he meets the irresistible Desdemana, a card carrying neo Nazi, who is only too willing to endure anything to promote the cause, and to enjoy it. In this tangled web of intrigue, corruption, not to mention deconstruction, Det. comm. Walrus is thrust, to battle valiantly against the odds and Prof Igloo, if he is to save the world from the clutches of the sinister signifiers...

Denis Wheatley says, "In all my dealings with the people of texts — 'critics' as they like to be known, one thing has become clear to me: I recommend that no one become involved in deconstruction — of either sorts, and should handle all proponents of it with serious care. Thank you for buying my book, by the way."

Quite enough determinacy

        Two more tangerines, however, and walnut?
        Never in the field of human Slough
        "Swarm over, death!" Euphonium, slipper.
        Can a nipper eat a kipper
        Standing in two pails
        If I did that the chair would lend me
        Straight upstairs to Wales.

            Not at all. Predilection for squid

(squidself waxing doriangreyer in its dud hud) FW, HCE

OK — after you. And so on.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!
ARCTURA (α Boo) [FEM], not Arthura.
        Quod Erat Detrimendum

What about the Quarswells?

"Common as the pronoun 'I'." "I, I, and I. I. A. E. I. O. U."
        Quite Enough Determinacy
            Thank you.

"And arise, you numberless infinities of souls
All whom the flood has and fire shall overthrow!" — in Donne, done in, by text text bye bye... "Though some have called thee mighty and dreadful!"

Finnegan beginnegan.

Covered in cow

"Quid pro quo?" questioned Arctura, a new character, Arthur's twin sister.

(α Boo) [FEM]

"But where, oh where, did I leave myself?" wondered Arctura's twin brother Arthur² + Arthur² + Arthur² = 3(Arthur²) {therefore} 1 = 9.

Path! Path! Whither wandereth the happy hippy?
            Never the spain, nor up in the hoopy?
            Nowhither, somewhence, and Anywhyhow,
            But the Marston Cycletrack is covered in cow.

The Arthurs were in different universes. In others some of them were feminine, in which case the Arthuras weren't. In one or two, if such apply, they were covered in cow. To introduce another term and another infinity, Earwicker appeared. "Plot 2, Text 57, Reason Nil" he said. "That sounds about right."

Grandmatology

    Arthur blinked, and understood nothing.

    (ALWAYS LOOK ON THE BRINE SLIDE OF KNIFE)?

    After all, "nothing" was easier than "being", although he had to be careful to think about it (and — nothing) without thinking it, as it were, itself, if it has one, which he was not sure whether to doubt or not. Oh dear! Oh shut up!

"No representation without textification!" Professor Igloo declared vehemently, but was struck squarely on the head by a copy of "On Grandmatology II: this time it's personal", hurled by a gnu called Boris. He then demolished the pie. "I was hungry," he later claimed in self defence, to the Roving Armed Vegetarians In New Guinea and Madagascar Against Death — or Raving Mad, as they were better known.

The Limerick Squad

"Buffoon?" screeched Professor Karswell, reemerging into the plot from a nasty oily puddle of mulch where he had been squashed when a particularly heavy text (it was the "Plena Ilustrita Vortaro de Esperanto") had clunked him on the head.

    "Buffoon" squawked Professor Igloo, who was Karswell's antimatter doppelgänger (twice removed with a spanner before inserting cartridge D; do not connect blue wire to green fuse without full insurance first) and expired. (Tax disc, and the.)

    "Where's the fishy?" said Professor Karsill, who had gone potty. He pottered round the potty, going potty, and battered round the batty going batty, it said on the door, please don't spit on the floor, so he stood up and spat on the BANG!!!

    "No one expects the Limerick Squad," shrieked Michael Palin, who was now an hour-and-a-half late. Everyone looked at their watches, but since they were all made of marzipan and fondue, they watched their looks instead (at).

    "Is this yours?" asked the rancid rebellious Palin, seeing the Bowyers' Tinned Steak and Kidney Texty-Pie and picking it up. But it screamed in displeasure and refused not to be replaced on the amazing new ultra-strong in-room personal gravity compensator (the floor). "I wasn't born yesterday!" it squealed. "I was born tomorrow!"

    "Impossible," laughed Professor Karsill.

    "Impothible," said Sylvester.

    "I tought I taw a puddy-tat," squeaked Texty-Pie.

    "3.141592653589794..." squirmed Texty-π.

    "Where's the fishy?" said Professor Karswell, who still hadn't found it (insert innuendo here: __________). But there was too much weather in the boot, and they all died happily ever after, and other things what begins with a Q.

No goat on the moon

There once was a rationalist clot
Who claimed that this book had a plot
What did he expect?
A transparent text?
A referential discourse or what?

(Enough limerwrecks. Ed.) (Who's Ed? Antiplautus)

There once was no goat on the moon,
Who were never (tho' sometimes) quite soon,
He was strangled, they say,
And exploded one day,
Tha silly old beer named Baboon.

Mauve with boredom

"The death agony of the metatext... is interminable."
    (Guess...)

Professor Igloo was interminable too, though he was not a mortal/immortal (mortal/immortal (under erasure (?))) metatext. The green aliens, to pursue another concatenation of signifiers for a moment, had gone mauve with boredom, trying every known method of termination. Finally, they hit upon ("literally") a Bowyers' Tinned Steak and Kidney Pie (note product placement). And they used it, despite Igloo's protestations, in the negative. They then poured off to the factory to load up with a few tons before using them to destroy civilization as we know it.

A flyte of limericks

Exeunt omnes. Dixit dominus. Cui bono?

"Enough clichés; and on with the story text doodle moose. They rowed for 50 days, but then realised that they'd forgotten their binoculars.

There once was a book full of BLA
The title of which was something like Gla
It wasn't much good
But indeed what could
be expected from an ex-Nazi called Derida!!!

Kongritalutions...

There was a young chap who presumed
To versify — quite unillumed
On the subject of "bla(h)"
And went rather too far
Though less misinformed than confused.

There was once a deleterious doctrine called deconstruction
Well known as a fiendish device, a devilish concoction
Just as it was incomprehensible
In equal measure reprehensible,
So that the reaction of most to it was eructation.

There was a young man who wrote limericks
Which tended towards the pathetic
He found it hard to relate
To the textual state
Constrained by phallocentric binary logic.