The Discovery of Writing & Democracy

A snake who had lain torpid all winter in his hole took advantage of the first warm day to limber up for the spring campaign. Having tied himself into an intricate knot, he was so overcome by the warmth of his own body that he fell asleep, and did not wake until nightfall. In the darkness he was unable to find his head or his tail, and so could not disentangle and slide into his hole. Per consequence, he froze to death.

Many a subtle philosopher has failed to solve himself, owing to his inability to discern his beginning and his end.

Two snakes were debating about the proper method of attacking prey.
"The best way," said one, "is to slide cautiously up, endwise, and seize it thus"—illustrating his method by laying hold of the other's tail.
"Not at all," was the reply; "a better plan is to approach by a circular side-sweep, thus"—turning upon his opponent and taking in his tail.
Although there was no disagreement as to the manner of disposing of what was once seized, each began to practise his system upon the other, and continued until both were swallowed.

The work begun by contention is frequently completed by habit.

Back in the day when all the animals could talk, in that most prehistoric of past pasts, there was such a superabundance of love and compassion throughout the realms, that the whole show collapsed into a global state of malnutrition. This was when Odin sent his only ill-begotten son to introduce deception, murder and theft and we entered into modernity: the survival of the fattest, and of course, the illiterate who had to resort to the analysis of imaginary imagery just to conceive of mutual representation, and so it is written, the only worthwhile reality is fiction.

Simultaneous Subspecifics of Nonrepresentative Symbolism:

1. Simulation: A mask disguising inability
2. Emulation: Mimicry without credential
         3. Parody: A mirror casting revolting reflection

Having been taught to turn his scraps of bad Persian into choice Latin, a parrot was puffed up with conceit.
"Observe," said he, "the superiority I may boast by virtue of my classical education: I can chatter flat nonsense in the language of Cicero."
"I would advise you," said his master, quietly, "to let it be of a different character from that chattered by some of Mr. Cicero's most admired compatriots, if you value the priviledge of hanging at that public window. 'Commit no mythology,' please."

The exquisite fancies of a remote age may not be imitated in this; not, perhaps, from a lack of talent, so much as from a fear of arrest.

A wolf was slaking his thirst at a stream, when a lamb left the side of his shepherd, came down the creek to the wolf, passed round him with considerable ostentation, and began drinking below.

"I beg you to observe," said the lamb, "that water does not commonly run uphill; and my sipping here cannot possibly defile the current where you are, even supposing my nose were no cleaner than yours, which it is. So you have not the flimsiest pretext for slaying me."

"I am not aware, sir," replied the wolf, "that I require a pretext for loving chops; it never occurred to me that one was necessary."

And he dined upon that lambkin with much apparent satisfaction.

This fable ought to convince any one that of two stories very similar one needs not necessarily be a plagiarism.

... and on the golden rule:

A man was plucking a living goose, when his victim addressed him thus:

"Suppose you were a goose; do you think you would relish this sort of thing?"

"Well, suppose I were," answered the man; "do you think you would like to pluck me?"

"Indeed I would!" was the emphatic, natural, but injudicious reply.

"Just so," concluded her tormentor; "that's the way I feel about the matter."

...

An ant laden with a grain of corn, which he had acquired with infinite toil, was breasting a current of his fellows, each of whom, as is their etiquette, insisted upon stopping him, feeling him all over, and shaking hands. It occurred to him that an excess of ceremony is an abuse of courtesy. So he laid down his burden, sat upon it, folded all his legs tight to his body, and smiled a smile of great grimness.

"Hullo! what's the matter with you?" exclaimed the first insect whose overtures were declined.

"Sick of the hollow conventionalities of a rotten civilization," was the rasping reply. "Relapsed into the honest simplicity of primitive observances. Go to grass!"

"Ah! then we must trouble you for that corn. In a condition of primitive simplicity there are no rights of property, you know. These are 'hollow conventionalities.'"

A light dawned upon the intellect of that pismire. He shook the reefs out of his legs; he scratched the reverse of his ear; he grappled that cereal, and trotted away like a giant refreshed. It was observed that he submitted with a wealth of patience to manipulation by his friends and neighbours, and went some distance out of his way to shake hands with strangers on competing lines of traffic.

Against Domestication

A wild horse meeting a domestic one, taunted him with his condition of servitude. The tamed animal claimed that he was as free as the wind.

"If that is so," said the other, "pray tell me the office of that bit in your mouth."

"That," was the answer, "is iron, one of the best tonics in the materia medica."

"But what," said the other, "is the meaning of the rein attached to it?"

"Keeps it from falling out of my mouth when I am too indolent to hold it," was the reply.

"How about the saddle?"

"Fool!" was the angry retort; "its purpose is to spare me fatigue: when I am tired, I get on and ride."

...

A wolf went into the cottage of a peasant while the family was absent in the fields, and falling foul of some beef, was quietly enjoying it, when he was observed by a domestic rat, who went directly to her master, informing him of what she had seen.

"I would myself have dispatched the robber," she added, "but feared you might wish to take him alive."

So the man secured a powerful club and went to the door of the house, while the rat looked in at the window. After taking a survey of the situation, the man said:

"I don't think I care to take this fellow alive. Judging from his present performance, I should say his keeping would entail no mean expense. You may go in and slay him if you like; I have quite changed my mind."

"If you really intended taking him prisoner," replied the rat, "the object of that bludgeon is to me a matter of mere conjecture. However, it is easy enough to see you have changed your mind; and it may be barely worth mentioning that I have changed mine."

"The interest you both take in me," said the wolf, without looking up, "touches me deeply. As you have considerately abstained from bothering me with the question of how I am to be disposed of, I will not embarrass your counsels by obtruding a preference. Whatever may be your decision, you may count on my acquiescence; my countenance alone ought to convince you of the meek docility of my character. I never lose my temper, and I never swear; but, by the stomach of the Prophet! if either one of you domestic animals is in sight when I have finished the conquest of these ribs, the question of my fate may be postponed for future debate, without detriment to any important interest."

This fable teaches that while you are considering the abatement of a nuisance, it is important to know which nuisance is the more likely to be abated.

The Meaning of Life

An ox meeting a man on the highway, asked him for a pinch of snuff, whereupon the man fled back along the road in extreme terror.

"Don't be alarmed," said a horse whom he met; "the ox won't bite you."

The man gave one stare and dashed across the meadows.

"Well," said a sheep, "I wouldn't be afraid of a horse; he won't kick."

The man shot like a comet into the forest.

"Look where you're going there, or I'll thrash the life out of you!" screamed a bird into whose nest he had blundered.

Frantic with fear, the man leapt into the sea.

"By Jove! how you frightened me," said a small shark.

The man was dejected, and felt a sense of injury. He seated himself moodily on the bottom, braced up his chin with his knees, and thought for an hour. Then he beckoned to the fish who had made the last remark.

"See here, I say," said he, "I wish you would just tell me what in thunder this all means."

"Ever read any fables?" asked the shark.

"No—yes—well, the catechism, the marriage service, and—"

"Oh, bother!" said the fish, playfully, smiling clean back to the pectoral fins; "get out of this and bolt your Æsop!"

The man did get out and bolted.

[This fable teaches that its worthy author was drunk as a loon.—TRANSLATOR.]

On Differànce & Deference

"The son of a jackass," shrieked a haughty mare to a mule who had offended her by expressing an opinion, "should cultivate the simple grace of intellectual humility."

"It is true," was the meek reply, "I cannot boast an illustrious ancestry; but at least I shall never be called upon to blush for my posterity. Yonder mule colt is as proper a son—"

"Yonder mule colt?" interrupted the mare, with a look of ineffable contempt for her auditor; "that is my colt!"

"The consort of a jackass and the mother of mules," retorted he, quietly, "should cultivate the simple thingamy of intellectual whatsitsname."

The mare muttered something about having some shopping to do, threw on her harness, and went out to call a cab.

– Ambrose Bierce, Cobwebs from an Empty Skull, 1874

A rat, finding a file, smelt it all over, bit it gently, and observed that, as it did not seem to be rich enough to produce dyspepsia, he would venture to make a meal of it. So he gnawed it into smithareens [I confess my inability to translate this word: it may mean "flinders."—TRANSLATOR.] without the slightest injury to his teeth. With his morals the case was somewhat different. For the file was a file of newspapers, and his system became so saturated with the "spirit of the Press" that he went off and called his aged father a "lingering contemporary;" advised the correction of brief tails by amputation; lauded the skill of a quack rodentist for money; and, upon what would otherwise have been his death-bed, essayed a lie of such phenomenal magnitude that it stuck in his throat, and prevented him breathing his last. All this crime, and misery, and other nonsense, because he was too lazy to worry about and find a file of nutritious fables.

This tale shows the folly of eating everything you happen to fancy. Consider, moreover, the danger of such a course to your neighbour's wife.

notes on desire, or 'there are no leaders on this dance floor, even for a ransom'

"Due to the eternal transmutation of forms, which are made of the elements, no single element ever gains predominance for long."

– Heraclitus

Al Jarry, or was it Doctor Faustrol who proposed a different way of thinking, suggests a law of rising vacuums to replace our falling bodies to describe all gravity, and that's not just the least or even half of it – you don't have to fall for it when a vacuum reaches up, it grabs you.

"All what?" you ask, I say "Whatever!", all was 'memory', all language, a song and dance – some call it theatre – all based on metaphor in fiction or in fact it does not matter, or molecular vibrations infecting 19th century Butler, or the principle of conservation of energy or stuff explained by Bergson in his conversations: just another state, not nations but a sort of memory all the same aestheticists insist it's just an impressive expression so what's the difference twixt a swallow and a metabolic penetration? and the elemental theory of ancient Grecians on the eyes themselves producing light which reaches out to kindred spirits like the sun or incandescent light bulbs and the grease-painted reflections all around you; and when two 'rays' meet the mutual vibing sets up – consciousness complete – a synergy of vibes which even Freud and Darwin so related, we back off, retreat or disengage when oversaturated; or that some aspect within the ear or lower, always barely trembling (or set and ready to go), finds a resonating wave and climbs onboard and rides it; infants who make every sound until those others in its rooms reiterate to such extent forgoes those oth'r articulations altogether; we can derive a make-shift basis for understandings of aesthetics as well as pleasure in experience (except when pain is just too much or have to rest before we lunch), and put forth definitions of desire just like this:

a cosmic vibe is looking for a dancing partner.

That is to say in all there's receptivity and spreading out or thin, a wiggle, not two halves of an exchange, an artificial and quite unneeded maiming cutting making only other fighting words and much confusion or dismemberment, not to mention faith and burning at the stake just to preserve a slice of life excluding all the others; not that all things "contain" receptors and emitters, that's just a way of talking (see Ibn al-Haytham/Hacen/Alhazen, medieval optician and inventor of the camera and expert on the lens) as superficial articulations, but perhaps tangentially so when there comes a bouncing ball or other perturbation we prepare to catch or tap it back, so they say desire's reactionary, muggy cruel and so should be suspended, but sometimes it's not anxiety, it's an embracive, no abrasion ever was intended.

If we consider the modern theory of the cell born as a stem, these so-called receptors do not come with a specialty, a special ality (morality's more special than any alter or an ego, and it says so), a leaf or innate dance or rhythm's sin, but learn their songs as old expressions (you might say a leaf is only wood's persistent way to catch some sun and spread it) seated only by and large and after their position (or coming 'round to it) in the environmental milieu or melange-like interweb's communication, they would learn from it, spider-like to associate a dance with songs or flies, like hum a few bars and I'll recall the lyric (and it's also vice to versa, sometimes virtuous but then they're often seen not versatile but coming with a greatly crass, cross purpose, lie because they've got no density behind their fat disguises); but it's not the cell which receives and dances well that generates our consciousness (that is, beyond its own – "we" cannot know this) but the resonating everything "connected", in the modern sense neuronical, hormonal (endocriminal) or mineral ducts and "channels", like Lamarke's originary blood creating its own tubules as they're creating it and then the seam's remembered (it's been rehearsed but only once the corpse flew out the window); or like endocrine corpuscles re-appropriating veins to turn them red to yellow (but really it's just sharing space – they're rooming) just like oceans making their own tubes of waves all folding over, which sets the entire town to dance, this community we call a "discrete organism", a "self" who only feels at home when on the beach, a home in saturation with everything in Heraclitan flux – not just because it's salty, there's also some crustaceans.

Distributivity simultaneously precedes and follows receptivity, generating poetry as a feast, not fastened, and there must be some bonfires, so gravity is never even constant, it's a variable distance between bodies and whose potent devastation's only countered by a motion, as Mr. Adams so well he noted, "Flying is the art and science of falling to the earth, and missing" and that is clearly a transmission, sometimes we want to land but everything else that's in the world of words can prove just all too much distraction; to chase 'one's' desire too resolutely is an invitation to be knocked clean out of orbit, we can only practice altered states of consciousness or to become devout, it's just another word for saying "shut in" – in a paper house, a burning match is only looking for a dance, to agitate infection, seducing paper with its spectral plays, it's just a fan dance to amaze, but proof of love at first sight or a touch, you might say the pantomime of eco mimicry; or bang of schizmophrenogenic scatter, loud like shotgun blasts unheard to any ear – so which came first, the sound or its engraved impression? – since up-close is all that matters as far enough away it all just fades or bounces (unless it's really really big) like every wave on every beach in flux or agitation only reaching for the moon, the eternal return in myth language and the sun's enduring orbit round a spot of gravity or fake and temporary center (in ellipses, there's never less than two but only when on paper as nothing else could ever stand so still or for that matter), which the other planets ellipse like an epileptic dancer round – it only looks smooth 'cause we're on it, it's a wobble, never any circle but a spiral, therefore every known return's as well an all eternal freaky but familiar transmutation, so is everyone a monster in this nation?

And so I look around with eyes, ever looking for surprise and when it comes my way I cannot notice 'cause it might resist or laugh or cause my brain to drip along the wall and me without a head to how's my eyeballs now that you have seen them? but should I shrink away 'cause I'm no matter I'll just wave and gravitate toward my own image in a mirror of water – it just seems safe 'cause you might think that I just want to harm you; at least you can be sure of this, that you're not just a background or some vomit in a toilet bowel or piss, but otherwise a vase that's holding roses so you know that anyone who's not afraid is only holding noses or is led by them or poses and don't know that there's a senic route around 'cause it is quite beyond them thinking difference makes a difference but we all know that some other differences don't mean shit at all, that is unless you've got a taste for it, it says it likes you after everything is said and done, the last it seems is sometimes number one and sometimes it is just imagination.