85-121
07.24.09
7:23 pm
Are Marathe and Steeply's giant gespenst-shadows simply a reflection of the wake they cast on the world? There seems something very non-Wallacian about that. About the whole setting and mood of their interactions, at odd with everything else. Not in a good or bad way, just doesn't sound like his style, to me. More like omniscient narrators that might pop up in a Greek tragedy. And for some reason that leaves this nagging feeling that there's more to those sections i haven't quite gotten. Annoyancing.
We start to get in to more of a continued narrative here -- both Marathe and Steeply and the after-practice locker room venting -- that seems to advance things more -- background to the political landscapes and machinations, inner-workings of the academy and its residents -- than the earlier introductions and vignettes. A story unfolding; the characters and their motivations distinguished. Last time through i paid insufficient attention to the passage where the students speak to their Little Buddies. This provides their definition; after all, what is more revealing than choice of subject with an uninhibited floor?
Not quite rolling yet though.
-"'Almost as little of irreproachable scholarly definitiveness is known about the infamous Separatist "Wheelchair Assassins" (Les Assassins des Fauteuils Rollents or A.F.R.s) of southwestern Quebec as is accepted as axiomatic about the herds of oversized "Feral Infants" allegedly reputed to inhabit the periodically overinhabitable forested sections of the eastern Reconfiguration.'"-
-"Struck, after having to read the first sentence a bunch of times to even make sense of it, gauges he's pretty safe in ripping off, since no way Poutrincourt'd have spent the time to E.S.L. her way through U.S. Academese this insufferable:"-
-"'Never is the train itself regarded as an opponent.'"-
-"It usually seems like plagiarists aren't lazy so much as kind of navigationally insecure. They have trouble navigating without a detailed map's assurance that somebody has been this way before them."-
-"In other words, M. Fortier and the A.F.R. (as far as Marathe knew) believed that Marathe was function as a kind of 'triple agent' or duplicitous 'double agent' -- at Fortier's direction, Marathe had pretended to approach B.S.S. seeking to trade knowledge of the A.F.R.'s anti-O.N.A.N. activities for protection and medical care for his hideously ill wife (Marathe's) -- only (as far as Marathe can know) Marathe and very few B.S.S. operatives know that Marathe is now only pretending to pretend to betray, that M. Steeply is fully aware that Marathe responds to B.S.S.'s summonses with what M. Fortier believes is his (Fortier's) full knowledge, that M. Fortier is not (as far as Marathe and Steeply can reasonably posit) aware that Steeply and B.S.S. are aware that Fortier is aware of Marathe's meetings with Steeply, and that Marathe's own violent death will be the smallest of his (Marathe's) problems should his Mont-Tremblant countrymen come to suspect the even-numbered total of his final loyalties."-
-"'A cartridge-copy of a certain let's call it between ourselves "the Entertainment." As in in the mail, without warning or motive. Out of the blue.'"-
-"'And your tits, they have become cock-eyed, i will tell you. Services Without Specificity, they have given you ridiculous tits, and now they point differently."-
-"'That most angelic of distortions.'"-
-"'Tard tard tard,' Stice says.
Group empathy is expressed via sighs, further slumping, small spastic gestures of exhaustion, the soft clanks of skulls' backs against the lockers' thin steel.
'My bones are ringing the way sometimes people say their ears are ringing, i'm so tired.'
'I'm waiting til the last possible second to even breathe. I'm not expanding the cage till driven by necessity of air.'
'So tired it's out of tired's word-range,' Pemulis says. 'Tired just doesn't do it.'
'Exhausted, shot, depleted,' says Jim Struck, grinding at his closed eye with the heel of his hand. 'Cashed. Totalled.'
'Look.' Pemulis pointing at Struck. 'It's trying to think.'
'A moving thing to see.'
'Beat. Worn the heck out.'
'Worn the fuck-all out is more like.'
'Wrung dry. Whacked. Tuckered out. More dead than alive.'
'None even come close, the words.'
'Word-inflation,' Stice says, rubbing at his crewcut so his forehead wrinkles and clears. 'Bigger and better. Good greater greatest totally great. Hyperbolic and hyperbolicker. Like grade-inflation.'"-
-"Though when the viewer's on it looks like the room has a window."-
[archilochusColubris]
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