(no subject)
For English Press One. Pada Espaniol E' numero dos.
Ever notice that when you eavesdrop on Yr neighbor, their conversation winds up as gibberish? If you don't believe me, try it. Listen in on the people sitting next to you at werk or the bus stop, in a restaurant or a riot, on a cellphone, whatever...the context will be destroyed and all you'll be left with is glossalalia. I even came across a website devoted to preserving the most outré examples of this: "You can't spell ' incomprehensible' without H-E-R-O-I-N."
WS Burroughs's(the Junior, not Senior Senor; the elder Burroughs sang Cowboy tunes, and they're fairly hard to locate) technique of mishearing things, and then using them to create Yr own inner dialogue, or write with them in mind, has more than a bit to do with this concept...
A few short days over a year ago, I was relaxing after an exhausting day of whatever-in- the-shit-happened, watching a pub(l)ic TV prog on ancient Egyptians; they were talking about burials, wardings, rites, rituals, and offerings, that sort of thing. The modern world has more information on the Egyptians DEAD than ALIVE: burial customs, natron, Canoptic Jars, all the sights and smells of home.
Narrator-man goes off on some Egyptian warding spell, or about how all eight or nine layers of the soul were "under the protection of blah blah blah" and all I heard was "I am under the protection of the Corporation."
So here it is: [cue the muzak and cut the lights, commence cursing]
Storytime with Uncle Wes!
"I am under the protection of the Corporate Office," the God-among-Man spake thusly, the rippling folds of his natty, snappy pin-striped Armani suit doing little to detract from the impact of the words.
Enamored by the prospect of easy cash money and hard bar gold, I lost my ways, becoming educated in the God's ways, ferried off to the Land of Deep Pockets and abundant, overflowing wealths. The radiant glory of coinage and treasury notes seared my tender eyesockets...
Filthy with wealthy, and paid far beyond the hourly wages and simple salaries of normal mortals, my bank account's expansive digits spanned to infinity; vast and eternal was the balance.
My mind reeled at the thought of the muchnesses of consumer goods of high quality that I could purchase, consume, discard and disremember at my own merest trifling whim.
I AM BECOME CASHFLOW!
There's a Lacan quote that Kathy Acker used to be fond of bandying about like some retarded bumper-sticker: "Language points to a lack." And so it does, indeed...