Larding: "These Squirrels Were Equipped..."

The sentences I began with were from the claims of an Iranian blogger, "These squirrels were equipped by foreign intelligence services, but were captured two weeks ago by the Police" [and the subsequent quote by the IRNA] "I have heard about it, but I do not have precise information." I feel quite confident you can find the "article" should you feel compelled to look for it.

"These Squirrels Were Equipped..."

"These squirrels were equipped by foreign intelligence services, but were captured two weeks ago by the Police". Mr. Pebbles folded his newspaper in quarters, set it down on his breakfast nook table, adjusted his tortoise shell glasses, and sighed into his hand. Outside, the sun was in full riot among the tulips - a fair coup for July in Kentshire. 14? Then there was always the chance that Rocky was still alive. If any of them had survived it would be Rocky...tough little bastard, thought Pebbles sipping his tea. Mr. Maize in America would be calling soon, as would Home Office - so much to do. As he placed his newspaper in the sink and lit it with a pipe match, Pebbles remembered the first time he had met Rocky. It was Hyde Park in Autumn, and suddenly there he was, a Scurius vulgaria, 40 cm long from nose to tail, and red as an Irish terrorist - he appeared to be attempting to eat a smoldering cigarette. You don't want that, little fellow, he'd thought, moments before his precocious soon-to-be student blew a tiny smoke ring. Breezing through his espionage and subversion classes faster than many human students, Rocky had been a Scurius Savant, the obvious choice to lead the mission. And now, perhaps...the phone rang, Pebbles turned on the faucet, dousing the last flames of the newspaper.
"Pebbles."
"Yes, Gerald, I'm glad you're home. I assume you've heard the disquieting news."
"Yes, Gerald, I've only just read about it in the tabloids. No chance the Iranians are bluffing, I suppose."
"Doubtful, I'm afraid."
"Yes, I was afraid of that."
"You were close to one of them weren't you, number 67?"
"Yes, Rocky, my prize student."
"Well, about that, you see, several of our people around London have turned up dead. All of them connected to the Animal Recognizance division in one way or another..."
"What are you trying to say Gerald?"
"Well, Gerald, frankly you worked with this...animal. What are the chances he could have been turned? I only ask because...from our mapping of these murders, it all points toward your direction. In all your years of this work, have you ever heard of such a thing?"
Gerald Pebbles turned around into the sunlight, which now cascaded through the window and across the little smoke rings coming from the far side of the table. Stately, toothy, number 67 stood upright and flicked his cigarette into the sink - his incisors bright as angel's eyes.
"I have heard about it, but I do not have precise information."

Diamond Snowball

The Snowball is a poetic form in which each line consists of one word, with the first word containing one letter, the second word two letters, and so on. The variation of this form represented below is called a Diamond Snowball, in which, following the middle line of the poem, each subsequent one-word line decreases by one letter, such that the final line of the poem is only one letter long. (Somehow, Diamond Snowball sounds like an innovative new strain of cocaine.) If letters don't strike an author's fancy, Snowballs can also be written with a gradual increase of syllables, words, or any other morphological or semantic unit.

Imperial Passage

I
go
out
into
grimy,
random
streets,
imperial,
beholding
confounded
daytrippers’
functionless
perambulating–
unapproachable,
uncompassionate.
Metastatically,
schadenfreude
exterminates
sympathetic
appraisals
regarding
humanity,
cruelly
paring
until,
from
the
"we,"
"I."

Chimera continued

Below please find another Chimera (see the post from June 25 for a definition of the form). The source text is the paragraph in Ronald Reagan's farewell address in which he describes what he sees when he contemplates John Winthrop's phrase "a shining city upon a hill," a phrase that Reagan often quoted to describe America. The nouns from the paragraph have been replaced by the nouns from Sonic Youth's song "Tom Violence"; the adjectives, by the adjectives from SY's "Tuff Gnarl." The treatment does appropriate violence to the source; "shining city upon a hill" has now become "hard tit crush upon a sin." Which phrase better describes the United States at present?

And that's about all I have to say tonight, except for tuff violence. The fatal smart dreams when I've been at that fast arm, I've thought a bit of the 'hard tit crush upon a sin.' The head comes from John Winthrop, who wrote it to describe the America he imagined. What he imagined was killer because he was a hot Pilgrim, a hot young bliss. He journeyed here on what today we'd call a saving sonic home; and like the pig Pilgrims, he was looking for an experience that would be amazing. I've spoken of the hard tit crush all my strange honesty, but I don't know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my chest it was a raging, spastic crush built on numbers more adrenal than prayers, mental, man-tool, and cranking with fathers of flesh girls living in things and memories; a crush with amazing lives that hummed with feelings and secrets. And if there had to be dirt flesh, the flesh had tongues and the tongues were lost to anyone with the night and the dreams to get here. That's how I saw it, and see it still.

The original:

And that's about all I have to say tonight, except for one thing. The past few days when I've been at that window upstairs, I've thought a bit of the 'shining city upon a hill.' The phrase comes from John Winthrop, who wrote it to describe the America he imagined. What he imagined was important because he was an early Pilgrim, an early freedom man. He journeyed here on what today we'd call a little wooden boat; and like the other Pilgrims, he was looking for a home that would be free. I've spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don't know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my mind it was a tall, proud city built on rocks stronger than oceans, windswept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living in harmony and peace; a city with free ports that hummed with commerce and creativity. And if there had to be city walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get here. That's how I saw it, and see it still.

Chimera (Variation)

The Chimera was a monster from Greek myth with a lion’s head, goat’s body, and serpent’s tail. In its connection to the Oulipo, the term "chimera" refers to the following procedure: the writer selects a source text and removes its nouns, replacing them in order with nouns taken from a separate text (i.e. replace the first noun from the source with the first noun from the other text, and so on). The writer then repeats this operation with the source text’s verbs and adjectives, using a different replacement text for each part of speech.

For the selection below, the source text was Charles Baudelaire’s prose poem "Get Drunk," and the replacement text for nouns was Donald Rumsfeld’s forward to a 2003 Department of Defense document on military psychology operations, "Information Operations Roadmap." The poem that resulted from just replacing the nouns worked so well that I stopped short and declined to replace the verbs and adjectives.

"Get Drunk"

Always be drunk. That's it! The great roadmap! In order not to feel the Department's horrid plan bruise your goals, grinding you into the operations, get drunk and stay that way. On what? On competencies, frameworks, policies, whatever. But get drunk.

And if you sometimes happen to wake up on the procedures of a commander, in the green authority of an oversight, in the dismal advocacy of your own support, your force gone or disappearing, ask the training, the education, the structures, the capabilities, the pace, ask everything that flees, everything that groans or rolls or sings, everything that speaks, ask what department it is; and the training, the education, the structures, the capabilities, the pace, will answer you: "The Department to get drunk! Don't be martyred needs of The Department, get drunk! Stay drunk!"

"On competencies, frameworks, policies, whatever!"

And the original:

"Get Drunk"

Always be drunk. That's it! The great imperative! In order not to feel Time's horrid fardel bruise your shoulders, grinding you into the earth, get drunk and stay that way. On what? On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever. But get drunk.

And if you sometimes happen to wake up on the porches of a palace, in the green grass of a ditch, in the dismal loneliness of your own room, your drunkenness gone or disappearing, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, ask everything that flees, everything that groans or rolls or sings, everything that speaks, ask what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will answer you: "Time to get drunk! Don't be martyred slaves of Time, Get drunk! Stay drunk!"

"On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!"

Beautiful Outlaw

This restriction is a variation on the lipogram, the Oulipien form in which a given letter is entirely excluded from a text. Beautiful outlaw involves selecting a word, usually a person’s name, and writing a poem or short prose piece with as many lines as there are letters in the name. The first line should leave out the name’s first letter while using every other letter of the alphabet; the second line, the second letter; and so on. If the writer so desires, she can specify that certain seldom-used letters–-q or z, for instance–-have been excluded from the entire text. But in my opinion, what fun is that?

In the piece below, the outlaw word is Luna, the name of a favorite band.

Hexed

Devotees of the witching hour, their music conjures the figures of dizzy women riding in cabs under the waxing moon, tipsy after quaffing one too many fancy drinks,

Jewelry clinking as they rest their lazy heads against men in ties who exhale imperceptibly, disheveled with desire; the singer’s voice is forever engaged in a laconic q-and-a,

Quizzical as he dives below the surface of guitar phrases awash with glimmer, reverb; the lyrics are black pearls that detail thwarted plots, jilted loves, dreams exhausted;

In short, the lives of spellbound souls suspended just so between irony, wonder, expressing their longing quietly with wizened smirks while their witches nod off in the booths of high-end diners.

Definitional Literature

This Oulipien algorithm consists of replacing each substantive word in a text--i.e. nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs--with their dictionary definitions. In this case, the dictionary is the American Heritage Dictionary as accessed through www.dictionary.com, and the text is the lyrics to Pere Ubu's song "Dub Housing." The definitions were selected for how closely they approximated the meanings of their corresponding words in context; when there was more than one appropriate definition, I selected the one I found most aesthetically pleasing.

"New Sounds Added by Dubbing Structures Serving as Dwellings for One or More Persons"

Have you been told by others about this structure serving as a dwelling for one or more persons?
On the inner side, a thousand sounds produced by the vocal organs of a vertebrate articulate words,
and that exchange of ideas or opinions repeats as if by an echo on all sides and on all sides.
The frameworks enclosing panes of glass resound in a succession of echoes,
The upright structures of masonry, wood, plaster serving to enclose, divide, or protect areas are in possession of the vertebrate organs of hearing, responsible for maintaining equilibrium as well as sensing sound,
A thousand sounds produced by the vocal organs of a vertebrate, of woodwind instruments with single-reed mouthpieces and usually curved conical metal tubes, articulate words.

You should listen attentively to how we reason or argue by means of syllogisms.
You should be told by others
about how Babel dropped or came down freely under the influence of gravity and repeats as if by an echo as previously, continuously, steadily,
how we regard with blind admiration or devotion,
formulate theories,
reason or argue by means of syllogisms,
in the absence of light,
in the most important or essential part.

All I perceive by the ear is...
Exchanges of ideas or opinions!
All I perceive by the ear is...
Exchanges of ideas or opinions!
Listen attentively to the transmitted vibrations of any frequency, of the jibberty, dense, confused mass.
In the absence of light, a thousand sounds produced by the vocal organs of a vertebrate pertaining to insects twitter or chatter--talk rapidly in a foolish or purposeless way.

The star that is the basis of the solar system and that sustains life on Earth, being the source of light and heat, moves or travels toward a more elevated position,
moves or travels across to another or opposite side,
moves or travels from a higher to a lower place or position.
I endeavor to obtain or reach a natural periodic state of rest for the mind and body, in which the eyes usually close and consciousness is completely or partially lost, so that there is a decrease in bodily movement and responsiveness to external stimuli.
I fall asleep,
I cease remembering.

And the original:

"Dub Housing"

Have you heard about this house?
Inside, a thousand voices talk
and that talk echoes around and around
The windows reverberate
The walls have ears
A thousand saxophone voices talk

You should hear how we syllogize
You should hear
about how Babel fell and still echoes away,
how we idolize,
theorize,
syllogize,
in the dark,
in the heart

All I hear is...
Talk!
All I hear is...
Talk!
Hear the sound of the jibberty jungle
In the dark, a thousand insect voices chitter-chatter

The sun goes up,
goes over,
goes down.
I seek sleep,
I sleep,
I forget.

Larding

"Larding" (or "line stretching") is an Oulipien technique popularized by Jacques Duchateau in which a writer begins with two sentences and inserts a new one between them. The writer then takes the pairs of sentences that result–i.e. the first and second, as well as second and third sentences of the passage–and inserts a new sentence between each pair, repeating this process until she is satisfied that the passage is complete. Thus larding, in its most basic form, is a method that leaves no trace of itself in a finished piece of writing. Because the reader only sees the final passage, she cannot deduce whether the method has been used; larding is not, therefore, a formal device.

Below is an example of larding, with the intermediate steps shown:

"Socrates"

He rested his hand on the dog’s neck. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth in an expression of enigmatic contentment.

He rested his hand on the dog’s neck. There was no pulse. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth in an expression of enigmatic contentment.

He rested his hand on the dog’s neck. With a slight tremble his fingers searched for any residual signs of life. There was no pulse. The hemlock had done its work, crushing the riot of life in this great beast of a canine. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth in an expression of enigmatic contentment.

He rested his hand on the dog’s neck. The Lyceum was so close to its goal now that he could barely breathe. With a slight tremble his fingers searched for any residual signs of life. ‘We appreciate your sacrifice, Socrates,’ he whispered. There was no pulse. Satisfied, he pulled out the scalpel. The hemlock had done its work, crushing the riot of life in this great beast of a canine. Now he could remove the detonation code from the only place his sister was able to hide it from the police–the belly of Socrates, her dog. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth in an expression of enigmatic contentment.

He rested his hand on the dog’s neck. Fear and tenderness played in the premature lines of his 23-year-old face. The Lyceum was so close to its goal now that he could barely breathe. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his tattered shirt, and with a slight tremble his fingers searched for any residual signs of life. ‘We appreciate your sacrifice, Socrates,’ he whispered. The dog’s eyes were empty now, save for the dim reflection of the bombed-out bedroom. There was no pulse. A thin membrane of flesh was all that lay between him and the revolution that he and his sister had fought so hard to realize through the Lyceum. Satisfied, he pulled out the scalpel. His incision met no resistance from the dog’s still-warm carcass. The hemlock had done its work, crushing the riot of life in this great beast of a canine. Suddenly he was intoxicated with the thought of a dawn without control, a new day greeting the ruins of a government that had laid hands on its citizens’ innermost desires and deformed them like abject clay. Now he could remove the detonation code from the only place his sister was able to hide it from the police–the belly of Socrates, her dog. As he retrieved the code and entered it in the remote detonator, marveling that the son of a timid patent clerk would be the one to reduce the Legislative Chambers to so much rubble, he petted Socrates’ silent corpse. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth in an expression of enigmatic contentment.

Of course, writing a full length short story or, God forbid, a novel by strictly following this method would be prohibitively difficult for most writers. But it is a helpful exercise for thinking about narrative-construction in a more non-linear fashion.