Before the textual revolution

The guide started, having already continued

Text! <-- Ludic symbol!

Surely "having always already continued".

Samuel the osprey, having thus transmogrified in the nonce (or was it a changing room) glared around menacingly. "Here is the mouse" said the announcer, in Dutch. Sam was disappointed with the surrealisation of the text.

"What did you do in the days before the textual revolution?" asked young Zeev. "I was a top Marxist critic" he replied bitterly. "But now the mill's closed, I'm out of work, redundant. Not thanks to Thazza and her minions, but to those goons of the hermeneutic mafia. They ran(g) me out of town."

Old father Patrick scowled unhappily. "Aye, it isn't the same nowadays – there's deconstruction winters, Bernie Winters (and Schnorbitz), Game for a Laugh (and laugh for a game – thanks you, Bruce). And that's not all."

"It never is, any more" sympathised Samuel, starting to become a dog, "I just don't seem to have any continuity any more."

Hideous welcome

The next chamber was wallpapered in the most hideously unspeakable colour. Not even the ablazest fury-fires of infernal hell could match this nightmare nuance of sadistic shade – it was an indescribably criminal colour, so I shan't describe it. So there...

Musteringly mouldy mucus mauved menacingly down the walls, gathering itself festeringly into a rancid pool of puddly pus on the evil, craggy ground.

'Orrible ooze grotted smellily all around, and the overall ethos of the place was like one of the more pestilential pits of limbo.

‘Welcome back,’ said Noel Edmonds.

Waxwork and walrus

It is in fact untrue that Western Metaphysics has only recently been illuminated, since as long ago as last fish-day there was a rather overpowering and vile stench of rotting cod, and of course let us not forget Hamlet's ‘other’ Brain which has hung in the corner over there since Queen Mungo ended her rain by dying her hare blue.

‘In the next chamber’ continued the guide, sniffing blue and being in a strange state of having eaten twelve-and-a-third fried eggs for breakfast every day since the Battle of Loowater, ‘there is a waxwork model which some of you may find mildly disturbing. The rest of you will of course find it hugely disturbing, since it appears to each person to be the perfect likeness of their own head roasting filthily on a skewer.’

An old lady screamed.

An old gentleman collapsed.

An old Radio 4 announcer laughed.

Somewhere in the distance an old bloaty walrus sneezed so hard it blew itself to pieces, but it was a Wednesday, so everybody noticed.

And yet

And yet, and yet – how did it come to pass that there was a lightbulb in the hole in the ground wherein was his head?

Had he been more aware of his assumptions he would have been more surprised, if anyone could be. For when he removed his head from the hole – his body came back!

‘I can't get in!’ shrieked Hoppity Spadge untruthfully, but it was a Tuesday, so nobody noticed.

Touché

Ten minutes later Samuel observed "I'm still here!" Then he reflected "So I believe in the continuity of my own subjectivity! And I consider myself present – er – here. That's rather odd. I must be inserted in the philosophical tradition of Western metaphysics. Perhaps that's why it's so dark."

"Western metaphysics. Don't talk to me about western metaphysics," said a voice. It was Touché Turtle. "You don't know how lucky you are! You don't even know whether you exist or not. I do, but – I'm not going to tell you."

Then – light abruptly began to emerge from a naked bulb suspended above them. "Pardon me," said a naked Aeschylus, also suspended above them. Then, seeing Touché Turtle, "bloody hell!", and, ascending in accordance with gravity – "revenge is mine!"

Cogito ergo sumo

Do you believe in deconstruction at first sight?
(a) Yes
(b) No
(c) What an interesting use of a visual metaphor. [Yes, you clearly do – dial 0443 58562 and ask for freephone "men in white suits".]

Samuel the ostrich pondered to himself. "Gosh it's dark here – it must be night? Or perhaps there's nothing there. Alternatively, maybe I don't exist. Ah, but cogito ergo sumo wrestler. So that's O.K. So I clearly exist. But what is out there – perhaps I should dial up Jacques. Actually I feel rather peckish [pun!] – perhaps I'll dial a pizza. But there's no phone! Obviously I exist, but not the external world – that's it. I'm in charge! [enough]