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Joyce's Umbrella

Have you any idea how hard it is for me to play a G major?
Should I write a standard progression, put the chorus where it should be and scream ‘dada’ in a controlled display of abandon?
Know I am a charlatan?
The only true rebellion would be to, with utter sincerity, believe yourself a penguin
Flying in the face of all authority


Making nonsense of their nonsense by means of nonsense
All artifice
If we knew the secrets of the universe would Tory policy be affected?

And why write? Why try? Why anything?

Because we are alive and feel consternation at suggestions that one day we will be no longer
I wrote my MP on the matter and was thanked by her desk for my correspondence

Sublunar rulers of rationale
Temporal yoke
Take our hands and guide us to gravity
As though far above the stars burn still beneath us
And so I, warped branch in the mind’s eye of my former self
A twisted blade sharpened on the whetstone of truth
Stand strong before draped banners of peace
Saving the world’s minds, beard incidental, slashing through stereotypes, tearing it all down
Paradox paragon turn your sword upon yourself!
Fatal logic!

Out on the street I step purposefully
‘Wait!’ shouts my conscience
Comical in breathless pursuit

I stay my progress and allow him to meet me,
My conscience made feeble by years of formality
He catches his breath, bent double and smiling:
‘You left your umbrella!’
(he doesn’t inform me)

Along the x-axis;
Fluctuating like a gated kick drum;
As unreal shapes in phase space;
Madness on all sides conceivable;
Madness on all sides inconceivable;
Permeating to the core
(if we can allow such an anomaly)


All that is real can be sold at a profit
All that is true is subject to review
But something IS true
Subject to review


All that is real is also unreal
Nothing is true until counterfeited by the artifice of review
Limited and also defined by Biology
Partial(?) pre-determination, Gestalt, partial fatalism
Ineluctable modality of the protagonist
I await your return from sea and I have your umbrella
You must be drenched through!

Give me no convention, no semblance, less, l asd dfig j [agj [ag-t gµ

© John Lowndes, November 2014

artdilemmasJames Joyceavant gardepopdadasurrealismautomatic writingBretonpenguin

◄ Individuality, Categories 1-7

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