Given the situation I would say that a young blue crested Amazonian is exactly how I feel: peck, peck, peck! I am not certain if there is a heaven or a hell. Or maybe there is one but it is always much more immediate than we ever thought. "Oh for heaven's sake" is what she might have easily said. Why not, "Polly want a cracker?" (I could never get my parrot to actually utter anything this innane.)
This posting like the rest of the blogs abandons profundity for this late spring day-- it is the last day of May after all. May 2007. what does that mean? I understand what May means because it feels like may, and it feels like the last day in may, but the 2007 part? I suppose we just get a little older, and in a sense we can always lose a little more. Look at this parrot here, there is little concern about loss, but some parrots I know would gladly take a good peck. I have got a parrot that likes to draw blood from me. Its a Norwegian Blue--- or maybe just an Amazonian Blue. I had a friend who wanted to make a statue of the first king of Norway and give it to the government for free. But then the government representatives took a look at his sculpture and stated that his first king was too human and did not have enough rich robes and crown. My friend felt that he had tried to make a statue of a humble man in a moment of intimate solidarity with his son-- but the attempt was not enough. "A king should be more regal! A king should have a golden crown!" (Shall I tell them that I stole it and used the few coins to purchase cigarettes? No-that would be too witty, perhaps even the working of a scoundrel nihilist, you would punish me for that, I won't say that. I am tired of saying that.) (Are you tired of yourself? -I am not tired of love's blithering confusion.)
Perhaps in this blog space I shall invent the greatest calumnies and swear them against myself. They shall all be false, assuredly, but at least it shall pose some relief from my case work with a psychiatric unit: as Milosz writes:
There was a time when only wise books were read
helping us to bear our pain and misery.
This, after all, is not quite the same
as leafing through a thousand works fresh from psychiatric clinics.
As it is I am working with an insurance agency, writing a thousand or more fresh works of psychiatric intent:
"Available resources have been offered to participant; at this time patient's condition is at their pre-morbid level of functioning and there is no current suicidal or homocidal ideation; the patient was instructed to call back to my direct extension if any further review of case issues was necessary."
Is this sufficiently post-modern? Does it prove anything is the case? It is post-roman, post litigious and therefore may be deemed utterly irrelevant. It has nothing to say. But even saying this is exhausted from itself. It is not fair to say I have nothing to say. Therefore I just act as though I have something to speak. Don't waste your time on me, please, anyone with a notable political opinion, I am only interested in the plasticity of life.
I probably attempted to join "Blogger" because I was irritated at some political commentary that I saw posted on http://thesanitysquad.blogspot.com/: about the godless liberal plot of the BBC. The British Broadcasting Corporation is... Evil? -Well, alright, if you insist.
I think of this title, perhaps it is based on something one might read in Robert Musil's "The Man Without Qualities" (Der Mensch Ohne Eigenschaften). Now there at least the humor flowed furiously--- and it takes on this narrative quality that one frequently sees.
The Narrator and the Idiot: a case study.
There are tons of idiots that writers write about every day. Julio Cortazar wrote a brief story called in English translation "Only a Complete Idiot" (from: Vuelta el Dia en Ochenta Mundos); I am in complete agreement, in general principle: only a complete idiot. Only a complete idiot... what?
More idiots are writing blog entries and being discussed in stories.
Again the people who actually wrote this blog (http://thesanitysquad.blogspot.com/) would undoubtedly call me an "Idiot" along with a few other even more grossly pejoritive names. I would deny all the pejorative names but they would nonetheless be absolutely correct.
This is the means of accumulating and relishing the pusnishmentof judges: its another 20 years every time. They never would reduce the sentence. So far its just another 20 years to add to my 120 year sentence.
Still I would rather be sentenced than be the one making the sentence: A godless heathen! Man posting pornographic pictures of a parrot!
