The Dinghy

The Dinghy

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Wednesday, April 23, 2003
 
Sure: form follows function. Follows it, indeed, into the deepest toilets of depravity, along the lengthy sewerages of toxicity and into the chthonic cesspools of humanity’s greatest malfeasances.

You: you yourself have experienced it with your own experiential sensors: anger leading to rage, rage leading to increased levels of bile and neurotoxins, increased levels of bile and neurotoxins leading to various misspellings, grammatical transgressions and syntactical missteps.

The angry missive, fired off from the comfy confines of the love seat of self-satisfied sanctimony, is the simplest, most asinine and most cost-effective of commonplace rhetorical advances. SURE: sit your high seat, eat your humpty-dumpty sandwiches, color on your placemats and, once in a while, feign to deign to explain those slippery “constructs” upon which you hold so great an intellectual strangle.

The neighborhood greengrocer, in the unctuous voice of the capitalist dogmatic, tells us of his various organisms; their myriad colors, shapes, hues, tints, tastes, juicities, medicinal purposes and pyscho-sexual effects. Too, the local lorry driver, screams his murderous rages from windows rolled down and signifies with horn and wiper blade in the pidgin language of the automobile. Even I (or someone like me), falling asleep to the dulcet tones of the humpback whales, scream out the second storey window, begging for the key to the Universe and the mercy of The Great Taxonomizer.

Explicity: we are sick of. It is in the implicity, that we, the devourers of signifiers, seek to make our meal. And this is what we read:

In the greengrocer’s callow pitches of his precious mangoes: need.

In the lorry driver’s perverted catcalls: need.

In the sanctimonious sofa king’s rhetoric-ridden vituperatives: need of the worst kind.




Go, and never come back.

Thank you for your time.



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