Comments on: Miss Riker visits the sleepologist http://trilema.com/2020/miss-riker-visits-the-sleepologist/ Moving targets for a fast crowd. Fri, 08 May 2026 18:55:58 +0000 http://polimedia.us hourly 1 By: Mircea Popescu http://trilema.com/2020/miss-riker-visits-the-sleepologist/#comment-154647 Mircea Popescu Fri, 02 Oct 2020 04:12:01 +0000 http://trilema.com/?p=96810#comment-154647 Let me tell you a story. Some years ago, some place somewhere, the people decided to build out of animal dung admixed with straw, instead of the much more demanding brick-and-mortar racist technology of forgotten olden days. It wasn't really answering properly the pressing questions of how the walls relate to them, anyways, and so as the years went by what started as laughable idiocy became tolerated excentricity and then the rule. After which point a poet or a writer or playwright or whatever in the Hells he was evoked a corner of familiar daily life mentioning in its construction the fetid yet intrinsic scent of room, or wall, or local spawn. The dwellers were taken aback, contrariated and much distressed. They knew, from other books they'd read, that neither wall nor room nor princess fair are at all supposed to smell just like a horse's ass. What gives, they inquired with the literate, why do you not present us with portraiture of life true, but instead falsified with this crude scent not found in any other books ?! You're seriously sitting there asking <em>me</em> why the walls you built, for being easier to build, for being in your indolent, ignorant approach "the only practical way available" for supposed "lack of any alternative" live up olfactorily to their substance and essential nature ?! They rhyme randomly and stumble assonantly because they're dumb, fucked in the head, your mirror image crafted by most certain hand, precise, exact, exactly, and in all truth I hope damnable, to boot. At any point prior to now, at every cross and juncture where you favoured your "modern", romantic idiocy, where your transcendental soul was going to magically save you from the fall, where you needed not put in any work or pour your guts forth on any fields under the flags, banners, bannerets or pennants of any lords -- <em>that's</em> where you were supposed to ask "hm, can we eventually live with the assonant, broken rhymes this will necessarily and in due time bring forth ?!" Now it's too late ; so get lost. Let me tell you a story. Some years ago, some place somewhere, the people decided to build out of animal dung admixed with straw, instead of the much more demanding brick-and-mortar racist technology of forgotten olden days. It wasn't really answering properly the pressing questions of how the walls relate to them, anyways, and so as the years went by what started as laughable idiocy became tolerated excentricity and then the rule. After which point a poet or a writer or playwright or whatever in the Hells he was evoked a corner of familiar daily life mentioning in its construction the fetid yet intrinsic scent of room, or wall, or local spawn.

The dwellers were taken aback, contrariated and much distressed. They knew, from other books they'd read, that neither wall nor room nor princess fair are at all supposed to smell just like a horse's ass. What gives, they inquired with the literate, why do you not present us with portraiture of life true, but instead falsified with this crude scent not found in any other books ?!

You're seriously sitting there asking me why the walls you built, for being easier to build, for being in your indolent, ignorant approach "the only practical way available" for supposed "lack of any alternative" live up olfactorily to their substance and essential nature ?!

They rhyme randomly and stumble assonantly because they're dumb, fucked in the head, your mirror image crafted by most certain hand, precise, exact, exactly, and in all truth I hope damnable, to boot. At any point prior to now, at every cross and juncture where you favoured your "modern", romantic idiocy, where your transcendental soul was going to magically save you from the fall, where you needed not put in any work or pour your guts forth on any fields under the flags, banners, bannerets or pennants of any lords -- that's where you were supposed to ask "hm, can we eventually live with the assonant, broken rhymes this will necessarily and in due time bring forth ?!"

Now it's too late ; so get lost.

]]> By: Rickey http://trilema.com/2020/miss-riker-visits-the-sleepologist/#comment-154644 Rickey Fri, 02 Oct 2020 02:29:15 +0000 http://trilema.com/?p=96810#comment-154644 Why are they talking in broken poetry?? It sounds terrible to read especially at the end Why are they talking in broken poetry?? It sounds terrible to read especially at the end

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