Grimbeau

Scroodles

Tag: Iron in the Soul

Novel on Toilet Paper

Grimbeau

More Myth than Pith

read the plain yellow cover-
no author, no publisher, no nothing to go on

apart from copious words on waxy,

grey municipal toilet paper,

all held together with a giant orange paper clip.

Emma had found it on her doorstep bubble wrapped in a plain brown envelope

after responding to a gentle tap on her bathroom window

A slight smell of lavender and carbolic wafted up as she flicked pages with a numb thumb. The writing was small, sharp dark pencil.

The hand right-slanted, neat, clear, compelling.
It was the story of her life so far

just keep on going, keep on keeping on, just keep going on, one leg after the other, over and over again, running, walking, trotting, stumbling, hopping, skipping, jumping, leaping…just keep on going on and on…

—Prose-poetry! My very favourite! She trembled

…hurtling it is, hurtling past fast. & I…

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the urinal of luv

I am about Tristram Shandy, and I have radically trimmed my beard. So, while musing on Ricks’ intro to the 1967 edition, which is pretty good, it occurred to me that, if Tristram was 17yrs at a 70’s comp, what would he be like? This is an interesting basis for extending an internal monologue; for, Ricks’ intro the contrasts between the certainty of the 18th century and the uncertainty of the 20th with Gene as a certain nihilist. Perhaps this is a strand that can be pursued. It fits with the episodic sketching and maybe gives me the breadth to get away from my habitual condensation, denseness, clogginess, or whatever.

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