III.45. Das plumpe Denken.  The great German theorist wrote: "The main thing is to learn how to think crudely.  Crude thinking, that is the thinking of the great....  There are many whose idea of a thinker is a lover of subtleties.  Crude thoughts, on the contrary, must be part and parcel of our thinking, because they are nothing but the referral of theory to practice....  A thought must be crude to come into its own in action."

 

III.59.13. "But what do you think of theory?" he said, posing the question in good liberal fashion.  He was a graduate student of English literature, all in favor of "theory," as if one could treat it as an identifiable and unified object, and then vote either for or against it.  His question meant: What is your position on theory?  Or: What is your opinion of theory?  

     My opinion was, after all, just as good as his, and being so was worthy to be heard and voted upon by the others present, five or six of them.  

     "But what do you think of theory?" he said, posing the question in good liberal fashion.  I answered him in a manner implying those elements of "theory" most important to such a group, those elements which, when they come to the fore, doubtless make these people feel the most enlightened, as if they had learned something.  

     I said: "Theory, from Greek theorein, to spectate, to watch, as in the sentence: 'We watch TV all day.'"  

     This produced a most predictable response.  They told me that arguments based on etymology were "meaningless," that "theory" has nothing to do with the Greeks.  To this I said that I wasn't basing my argument on etymology, but hearing my argument in etymology.  I insisted that, in any case, the Greeks were all over the place, that half the homes in Madison were Phonecian ruins, that the Vatican was a Semitic site occupied by the Greeks, that we must treat the Vatican as if it weren't a Greek site, that we must speak through its Semitic heart, the sacred heart of Mary, the blood of Christ, and so on.  

     This produced a most predictable response.

     Then we spent an hour arguing over the value of the mass media, and I went home most enlightened.

 

 

III.101. i. A death's head explodes above the city: like rain it showers down, in useless shards.

 

ii. Formula: writing out of writing.  Writing under the complete elimination of theory.  What only B. in his paleological writings attempted.

 

iii. Method of the work: lost aural mosaic.

 

 

III.135.

 

The gesture of the eye watching another.

 

The gesture of the mouth in uproarious laughter.

 

The gesture of the hand inscribing marks.

 

The gesture of the ear silent on a moonlit volcano.

 

The gesture of the eye puzzling over traces.

 

The gesture of the sinews grasping furiously to snap the bonejoints of pale Eros.

 

And the non-gesture of the one adrift, gritted teeth, in [     ].

 

 

III.136. Scriptive Abbey.  The monks and nuns are of a stunning physical beauty.  They live as a co-operative, each however with his or her own room.  Their bodies are covered with texts from the Book of Madison, tattooed upon them in cuneiform script.  They are dedicated to amours, study and prayer.   

     There are three tattoo-scribes who work in the entrance hall--the Roman alphabetic transliteration fully legible on each of their six wrists.  The various pictographs or ideographs that come to be used in the increasingly scriptive text will be translated over the rest of their bodies which over time will become reference works.  

     Those who come to read our text pay by the hour, and must decipher it as they will, the reference works being called up to the individual rooms by patrons for an added fee.  The religious pay their way being read.  

     Of course there will be bodies of text preferred by each patron, either for the text itself or for the ensemble of the book as it gathers the text.  Patrons will have to make appointments with each book to be read, and books cannot be taken out.  

     With each generation the task of this reading becomes more difficult, as the script becomes more scriptive.  Patrons must then arrange to meet with an older book so as to corroborate their reading of the text under scrutiny.  The text as a spoken word is held in the keeping of scribes and the religious, who may, it is true, eventually lose it themselves.  

     Such employment would hardly succeed in America at present, though the abbey or bibliothque or brothel may work in Paris, Berlin, or Tokyo.  The book needs relatively few hours of availability in order to pay its keep, and can spend the time thus gained in study, amours and prayer.  

     Many a book will not allow him- or herself to be handled before he or she has been well read.  

     NB: Prospective books have no choice of what text or texts they are made.  The tattoo-scribe chooses to copy what and where he or she will.  The full text of the Book of Madison must be preserved--i.e. legible--in the library at all times.  

     Je m'adresse ˆ BŽatrice AndrŽ-Leickmann, ˆ Jean-Louis de CŽnival, ˆ Jean Bottero, ˆ Christine Ziegler, ˆ Ake Sjoberg, ˆ vos Žtudiants, aux parisiens choisis: j'ai besoin d'artistes de tatouage, de jeunes hommes et femmes dŽvots, d'une grande maison pas loin du centre-ville, d'un traducteur, et de votre collaboration dans la scriptivitŽ continuelle et progressive du Livre de Madison, i.e. je vous prie de m'emmener ˆ Paris pour Žtudier lˆ-bas.  --Eric Mader-Lin

 

III.140. They attack me because I quote Cosmo di Madison's religious and social views as if I believed them to be admirable.  They attack me as if I believed his laughing and maniac violence to be something admirable, something worthy of our attention and respect.  And, well, I make no bones about it: I admit from the start that not only is Cosmo di Madison my best friend, he is at times almost my hero.  They really can't believe I am "serious" in this: a reaction I am used to by now, particularly from earnest liberals and PC hipsters, for there is hardly anyone among them in tune with my own notion of seriousness.  They insist dully that Cosmo di Madison is "crazy," leaning on the usual polemical value in that measly assertion, and confident, of course, that we are all quite sure about the nature of crazies and craziness, as sure, say, as we are of our own sane nature. 

 

 

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