boistering

Friday, October 29, 2004

Irate Savant

I'm not a communist. I am a patagonian, a citizen of the world. World citizen. Perhaps the first. To discuss the nature and meaning of obscenity is almost as difficult as to talk about god. Until I began delving into the subject I never realized what a morass I was wading into. If one begins with etymology one is immediately aware that lexicographers are bamboozlers, every bit as much as jurists, moralists, and politicians. A new America, one never before conceived, must be invented. Somewhere a bum is walking a train track happy as a dragonfly. D.H. Lawrence was probably right when he said "nobody knows what the word obscene means". As for Theodore Schroeder, who has devoted his whole life to fighting for freedom of speech his opinion is "obscenity does not exist in any book or picture, but is wholly a quality of the mind." What did he mean, Joyce, when on the eve of Ulysses he said he wanted to "forge in the smithy of his soul the uncreated conscience of his race"? Like the sun itself which, in the course of a day, rises from the sea and disappears again, so Ulysses takes its cosmic stance [like an Ornette Coleman solo] , rising with a curse and falling with a sigh. Communists don't exist. Marx was a humorless cretin. But the Absolute was in his blood. And if in the end Freud happens to find himself enmeshed in his own creative lie is there any denying the fact that thousands of individuals, believing implicitly in the efficacy of his therapy, have found greater enjoyment in life? Coke adds death. There is a dark joke played on the human race. Like Mohammed, Buddha, Christ, Tamerlane, do we want art to become more communicative, living art, latitude and longitude. Plagiarism is necessary. History is continously becoming, repeating. E=mc2 Facts live eternally. Men and women die.

By that I mean.

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