(don’t ask. You’ll figure it out. Add to it when you want)
“Richard, Prior to dying your hair yell “oh,” and Andre will take the Bone apart.” “Okay,” said Richard. But Ard was not that rich. In fact, he was flat broke. The directors didn’t care and proceeded.
“Roll 'em!” shouted the camera man, but nobody had any papers and they needed some joints badly. The pot was good, but there was nothing to smoke it with. “Smoke it?” asked the director. “Why do we need to smoke it? Won’t that make the food taste bad? We need to use a pot that is clean to cook with,” he said, “food that taste like smoke is for the Byrds.” “How do you know that?” asked the camera man, “Larry shoots a mean three-pointer but you have no idea what his family likes to eat. Now hurry up…he’s getting Hungary.” “What!?,” said the director, “how is he going to take over an entire country, does he have an army?” “Of course he has an army, and he also has a navy blue sweater,” replied the camera man. "Well that’s just absurd. A sweater is going to be red if anything, I mean, usually when people sweat they are hot, right? Don’t you associate “Red” with “hot?” asked the director. The camera man looked at him suspiciously. "I’d say Red is attractive, but he certainly isn’t “hot,” he replied. “You and I both have known him for years and he sure ain’t no cassanova.” “Of course not,” mocked the director, “that nova was named Cassa years ago by three physicists and it has nothing to do with Red. Have you lost your mind? You are making absolutely no cents!” “No shit, Sherlock, because I’ve promised to work for free,” snapped the camera man. “Don’t you remember?”
On the other side of the stage things weren’t working out like expected. Unfortunately, Wilson’s Pickett couldn’t be used for the fencing because it wasn’t sharp enough, and these boys had real swords. They weren’t kidding, and they weren’t leading the kid around either…it was caged in the goat pen. “Gimme that thing!” shouted Wilson, as he reached for the goat shaped pen. “You got anything to write on?” he asked John’sson. “Did I give you permission to talk to my son?” John demanded. “Ignore Wilson, son,” said John, “he won’t make a good sword’sman.” “Since when do good swords own men, and do you really think he could make one for the good sword?” asked John’sson.
Meanwhile the kid was kicking its hooves, trying to get out of the pen, when Andre walked up…
You really can be an impatient wretch sometimes… Do you not realise that most of the British posters will have been out last night, getting drunk and so forth? They won’t have had the time as yet…
“I’d write you up for cruelty to goats if only this ink would flow,” Andre whispered under his breath as the kid continued his football game with the goat. “Stewart! Stewart! get your arse over here and bring that bloody prop!” Andre screamed across the crowded hall of books. Disgruntled librarians cast looks of death at Stewart who ran with his shining plate mail armo(U)r glistening in the fiction section. “Aye mate, your king has returned from (the) Israel section (not the Crusades). What do you want now?” Andre scratched his head and look Stewart up and down and saw the sheathed instrument for liberating the coagulated blood which was prevented from freely flowing in Goat pen (and yes, the kid finally kicked back and the kid ran home to his mum never to play football with goats again.) Andre laid the goat pen and on the counter and told Stewart, “Ok mate, I need you to use Excalibur as a wedge and just maybe we can get this goat to bleed…”
But Stewart said his ex’s calibur was 9mm Hi-power and he didn’t have any to hand and what good would perforating the damn goat do anyway…? Perforations…? said Andre that’s a fucking fantastic idea, the tannin in teabags is an excellent natural anticoagulant - we’ll have that billy spouting like a geyser in minutes. Billy looked up from the art section where he’d been busily perusing the used nudes collection for purposes of self-engorgement. Huh…? he said - did someone mention my name. Fuck off weirdo said Andre, still attempting to cellotape a PG tips to our four-legged friend. I find stringed instruments definately the hardest to record properly said Stewart in passing, hanging on like grim death to the struggling goat. Sheepishly both men had to admit defeat (thanks he said, walking past them) and let the wooley fucker go.
Blow this for a game of soldiers said Andre, throwing up his hands. I never knew you were a bisexual wargaming fanatic said Stewart, catching them…
Blow this for a game of soldiers said Andre, throwing up his hands. I never knew you were a bisexual wargaming fanatic said Stewart, catching them…
Stewart’s firm grip locked on Andre’s neck, while the radio began to spat out confuse, blurry tunes. The goat had unseemingly stumbled upon a pair of galoshes and began to cavort around, dancing the foxtrot. “You’re an idiot, everyone knows foxes don’t trot around in the daylight”, declaimed Andre pathetically, struggling to breathe. “They shun open spaces like a strut’s wife shuns cabbage, you clap-head !” “Don’t you call my wife a bitch, you filthy animal”, barked Stewart frenetically. His incoherent bellows made the goat startle and miss a few steps. “You see that crowbar ?”, he lambasted. By now, Andre was already showing signs of exhaustion: “I never knew Crowe owned a bar”, was his jiggered reply. “As a matter of fact…” “Well, it wouldn’t matter for a man with an open heart, anyway”, sighed Stewart interrupting him. He had probably remembered a past romance, for he let go of Andre’s neck and sat down on the sticky floor, eyes deeply swamped into their sockets.
At the sound of Stewart’s resonant words, Andre had a fit of rage. He swang his booted foot right into Stewart’s chin, making his fake denture cannon out of his mouth: “Don’t you make fun of my operation”, he gnashed…
Perfect, Colinsign. The meaning is forever redetermined a moment later by the change of context and the use of the word, or is interpreted indirectly and ironically anyway.
Unfortunately nobody but Scevola actually created a “syntax confusion,” and only once:
The term “foxtrot” is treated first like a thing and then as an action. A foxtrot is a dance and also a fox-who-is-trotting.
The rest of you did well but the method was incorrect. Its very simple. Look at this again:
"“Richard, Prior to dying your hair yell “oh,” and Andre will take the Bone apart.”
Do you see the many possible associations? Richard Pryor, the actor. The fact that he died, the color of the hair, and Andre Bonapart, were all determined indirectly and were never mentioned outright.
I could explain them all if I have to, but I think you all understand how to do it, you just are being lazy.
As it stands, the movement of the discourse isn’t working through indirect association. It is plotted and can make sense, but there are no ambiguity, no indirect reference to another meaning.
Just an example of what could have been said to demonstrate what I mean:
Let me compliment your wife, sir. She shuns open spaces like Lady does the Tramp, my good friend." “Don’t you call my wife a bitch, you filthy animal”, barked Stewart frenetically.
“Lady” is a female dog cartoon character, and “bitch” is the formal term for “female dog.”
Also, the plot changes suddenly. A compliment is made that is taken as an insult, but it must be indirectly supposed through the syntax ambiguity of the use of the term “bitch.” The jolting of the plot is what is hard to keep under control. You can’t create a possible association that throws the whole situation into meaninglessness. It has to be lead somehow.
I somehow assumed that ‘cabbage’ carries in itself the word ‘bitch’, at a phonetical level, although not even I could make sense of how the syntax is ‘traversed’ when re-reading the text*.
*[size=75]If I knew I’m being monitored, I’da worked harder [small emoticon mimicking a smile][/size]
Oh, okay, I can see that. That’s a hard one, actually, harder to write than say at least. It is because the intended pronunciation cannot be clear in the read text and would need to be said in order to be phonetically expressed.
I had similiar trouble when I used the term “John’sson”. I wanted to imply “John’s son” but could only spell it “Johnson,” which wouldn’t imply the possessive form of the term and the son of Johnson. So, I just spelled it John’sson. I know, it was weak. I think those should be avoided because they rely on altering the spelling, which should remain normal.
Cool. Yours works, techinically, but it was a hard one to decipher.
The placemat left his hotdog nobody knew, but they searched the area, and it was a hot summer day, surely the dog was hot and thirsty having nowhere to cool off, because meantime… wasn’t any airconditioned doghouses, it was something else. It was an arranged time where everyone in the group acted mean, kind of like a role play. Carmike didn’t like this because he prefered cars, not meantime, that was boring. And there random down the street, and Dom could run as fast as a silver greyhound bus. Carmike was impressed into the dirt because a building fell on him and never got to meet Dom. So Carmike handed Mat a blanket, who stared at him in amusement. “You hand me a blank et? How dare you. Ets are always full of literature and writing. You’ve got some nerve.” Carmike waits and waits and waits for his next order, but Dom gets pissed and shouts “I’ve never had such a lousy waiter! Let me speak to the manager.”
recently edited: “, because meantime…etc., etc.” It puts it together better than saying “But,” which I originally did when beginning the new sentence that I just eliminated with an addtional comma.
Hopscotch tasted different from wheat scotch but they still played the game the same. The bottles weren’t counterfit either, so they put them on the shelf instead, because anything not fit for the counter should certainly be stored on a shelf. It was customary, of course, who made the rule. Mary always had custom and she wouldn’t allow any foulplay. Which is precisely why she became an umpire.
There is an interesting question asked here. If I were in a dark room and I heard this text read to me with neutral pronounciations, with no visual information, what images would I make in my head? The text is sensible in many different ways, but is by itself, nonsense.
“Richard, prior to dying your hair yell “oh”…etc.”
How would the mental images proceed simultaneously with the movement of the text? Would I first have in my head an image of Richard Pryor, or do I see a guy named Richard getting ready to dye his hair yellow, involved in some movie skit?
Its an important question and I think it has a lot to do with how meaning is imaginary insofar as it can be lead in explicit different directions without meaning anything in particular overall. How much of conscious thinking is reliant on visual amd memorable contexts-- what and how does the imagery correspond with the data of the text if two different people were hearing the text read to them in a dark room?
What does “interpretation” mean?
If anything sensible is interpreted in the presence of visual and physical experience then its safe to say that any imagery corresponds with the data directly and cannot be mistaken. That the mental event of “thinking about it” would be consistent and expected anytime someone read a certain text in a certain physical situation. But when there is no external source of visual and physical assistance to the experience, the mind must improvise the imagery it creates during the computation of the text. Without seeing the spelling differences one wouldn’t know how to treat a word until a moment later when the context was suddenly shifted. If it was read almost perfectly neutral with minimal syllable accentuation it would carry well and the little changes would be noticed. But the story itself in nonsense-- it couldn’t represent a state of empirical events anyway, so where is the “sense?”
The question is: where does imagination start and experience end and must imagination require “real” states of data in order to produce concepts simultaneously upon traversing the syntax of the text without visual or contextual consequences-- a dark room instead. Is Locke correct to say that mental concepts are always impressions of empirical states? If so, how does one proceed with the imaginary concept when the “impression” is that made from an ambiguous text-- one with several meanings at once.
Upon second thought it’s a half-bunk question anyway. There is no significant difference in reading the text in a dark room or a light room full of things. So I’ve made a false dilemma there. However, the question still stands about the imaginary and the real…what is “present sense data” or Lockean “impressions” and how does that corespond with internal mental events as the mind has to make sense itself of a plot meaning without any arrangement of data. What images match what points in the progress of the concept as the mind interprets the reading-- the “in progress of.”
[/size]