Tamara > Recent Status Updates

1.8

A young woman and an old one washing literal and airing figurative dirty laundry on opposite river banks.

“Wait till the honeying of the lune, love! Die eve, little eve, die! We see that wonder in your eye. We’ll meet again, we’ll part once more […] when the blue milk’s upset. Forgivemequick, I’m going! Bubye! And you, pluck your watch, forgetmenot. Your evenlode. So save to jurna’s end!”

1.7

Fresh horrors from Hades! Shaun describes Shem’s lowness/filthiness/darkness/wrongness/hybridity until Shem, “haunted by a convulsions sense of not having been or being all that I might have been or you meant to becoming,” narrates: “no longer will I follow you obliquelike through the inspired form of the third person singular and the moods and hesitencies of the depodent but address myself to you”

1.6

References to surfaces, angles, shapes abound: are the collideorscape, primomobilisk, isocelating biangle, helixtrolysis, etsitaraw etcicero “too dimensional for you?”

Tag urself I’m “heavengendered, chaosfoeted, earthborn” and “disghosted.”

This section as “a period of pure lyricism”:
“Shades began to glidder along the banks […] she made up all her myriads of drifting minds in one.”

1.5

Very iconic academic satire exploring the “chaosmos of Allah” and full of ethiquethical philophosy from thinkers like Caprimustimus and Fruedened.

Schwrites this one for the bisexycles, lesbiels, hetarosexuals, and even “meeter’s cat’s wife’s half beeter’s meeter.”

“It Was Me Egged Him on to the Stork Exchange and Lent My Dutiful Face to His Customs” is the original stonks meme.

1.4

Mr Jams Jarred is cooking up some creamclotted sherriness of cinnamon syllabub!

HCE is getting “(sic!)“ and “(sicker!)” and “rich in death anticipated” while bleeding “nonfatal mammalian blood” in “self defience.”

I am having “ould lanxiety” and learning about the Celtic tree alphabet called Ogham: “The war is in words and the wood is the world.”

“It was life but was it fair?”

1.3

Revenants, ghosts, specters… Tag urself I’m “Artist, Unworthy of the Homely Protestant Religion”

“Silence was in thy faustive halls, O Truiga, when thy green woods went dry but there will be sounds of manymirth on the night’s ear ringing”

“Words weigh no no more to him than raindrips to Rethfernhim. Which we all like. Rain. When we sleep. Drops. But wait until our sleeping. Drain. Sdops.”

1.2

Well you know what they say: All Swell that Aimswell!

Me inviting all the scholarchs (fellow grad students) to the bounquet (potluck dinner) to eat “desippated soup”

This section is full of deferred/postponed meaning, disclaimers and qualifiers, tension between historicity vs myth/legend, focus on how national identity is built and maintained, lots of transitory spaces like inns and parks and pubs

1.1

Initial impression: the prose reads as if Benedict Cumberbatch was pronouncing every word like he pronounces “penguin” and also the Italian song imitating how English sounds.

It’s got the childlike rhythms and rhymes of limericks and fairytales that are both playful and soothing—fascinating in contrast to the heavy sexual undertones!

“only a fadograph of a yestern scene” is so beautifully lyrical.

Every line this man ever wrote is my definition of heartache… “For our time is the passing of a shadow / And our lives will run like / Sparks through the stubble / I place a delphinium, Blue, upon your grave.”