Er...A message from Goscinny and Uderzo?
Welcome to the BlabberWocky!
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Friday, December 30, 2005
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Tis The Season to be Ugly
Tis The Season to be Ugly
A Chirstmas Disco-bhaari!!! Read All About IT!!!
Presenting to you a piece of Panu-Type sensetionalism that will knock this generally peacefully nonsensical blog out of its seat and into MAYHEM.
A research on the nature of Christ's Conception and the CONSEQUENCE on Mankind.
Here's a little sample below:
......I mean, what was Joseph doing with his wife… family planning? And even if he was, why was he not popping the damn fruit, for Christ’s sake? Was he waiting for Christmas to unravel that particular present? (Oops, I think he was…)"
Read and be Amazed!!
Read and be Shocked!!
Read all about the weepy side-effects of writing this particular thing on "aibbappsss!!!"
A Chirstmas Disco-bhaari!!! Read All About IT!!!
Presenting to you a piece of Panu-Type sensetionalism that will knock this generally peacefully nonsensical blog out of its seat and into MAYHEM.
A research on the nature of Christ's Conception and the CONSEQUENCE on Mankind.
Here's a little sample below:
......I mean, what was Joseph doing with his wife… family planning? And even if he was, why was he not popping the damn fruit, for Christ’s sake? Was he waiting for Christmas to unravel that particular present? (Oops, I think he was…)"
Read and be Amazed!!
Read and be Shocked!!
Read all about the weepy side-effects of writing this particular thing on "aibbappsss!!!"
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Friday, December 09, 2005
Virginia Woolf might actually be fun!
“And so Eliot ends with this great Sanskrit chant, which is wrong anyway… the Sanskrit’s all wrong.”
- PC, on “The Wasteland”
“Bertrand Russell’s third wife – he had many wives and girlfriends – he really really did believe in free love.”
- PC, on sexual lib
“Has anyone here, in a fit of madness, read any Proust?”
- PC, on Modernism
- PC, on “The Wasteland”
“Bertrand Russell’s third wife – he had many wives and girlfriends – he really really did believe in free love.”
- PC, on sexual lib
“Has anyone here, in a fit of madness, read any Proust?”
- PC, on Modernism
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
INSPIRED BY THE FRATERNITY (and the Hair-do)
Okay, okay... I know I am supposed to study through the exams, but suddenly my career thoughts have taken a nosedive and I am Hung up between Madonna's a**cheeks ("puh-leeze" to those who will critique me as sexual..."as if you people don't..."). Anyway, I was going through my course material, and found something that just might be the first Instruction manual for sound mixing and DJs, RJs, VJs, and AJs..(cant remember any more Js). Read through the following exerpt... its pretty neat, though might be a tad boring.
............."We have also sound-houses, where we practise and demonstrate all sounds, and their generation. We have harmonies which you have not, of quarter-sounds, and lesser slides of sounds. Divers instruments of music likewise to you unknown, some sweeter than any you have, together with bells and rings that are dainty and sweet. We represent small sounds as great and deep; likewise great sounds extenuate and sharp; we make divers tremblings and warblings of sounds, which in their original are entire. We represent and imitate all articulate sounds and letters, and the voices and notes of beasts and birds. We have certain helps which set to the ear do further the hearing greatly. We have also divers strange and artificial echoes, reflecting the voice many times, and as it were tossing it: and some that give back the voice louder than it came, some shriller, and some deeper; yea, some rendering the voice differing in the letters or articulate sound from that they receive. We have also means to convey sounds in trunksand pipes, in strange lines and distances. SIR FRANCIS BACON --- THE NEW ATLANTIS
............."We have also sound-houses, where we practise and demonstrate all sounds, and their generation. We have harmonies which you have not, of quarter-sounds, and lesser slides of sounds. Divers instruments of music likewise to you unknown, some sweeter than any you have, together with bells and rings that are dainty and sweet. We represent small sounds as great and deep; likewise great sounds extenuate and sharp; we make divers tremblings and warblings of sounds, which in their original are entire. We represent and imitate all articulate sounds and letters, and the voices and notes of beasts and birds. We have certain helps which set to the ear do further the hearing greatly. We have also divers strange and artificial echoes, reflecting the voice many times, and as it were tossing it: and some that give back the voice louder than it came, some shriller, and some deeper; yea, some rendering the voice differing in the letters or articulate sound from that they receive. We have also means to convey sounds in trunksand pipes, in strange lines and distances. SIR FRANCIS BACON --- THE NEW ATLANTIS
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Ramon's World Famous Frittata Fraternity
That which inspired Kanti's hairdo!
Where is our infamous editor anyway?
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Another story
Just put up the story that took me to (and that i took to) the writing workshop conducted my amitav ghosh on azeemhussain.blogspot.com
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
A Story
If anybody is interested in reading my story for the writing in practice presentation it's on my blog - azeemhussain.blogspot.com
Warning: Positive feedback (if any) might induce me to put up more stories.
Warning: Positive feedback (if any) might induce me to put up more stories.
Monday, November 14, 2005
I Con - Ruud Van Nistelrooy's Alternative Homepage
"Another player who liked to go down as quick as Roy Keane's Mum"
Lots more at...
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
On Blabbermouth
“A compelling tour-de-bore from a major new and big mouth.”
- Butt Seriously
A Letter to the Author
Dear Mr. Dasgupta,
First of all, Blabberwocky is somewhat disturbed at this turn of events. Your brilliantly-researched new expose of life in JUDE – using material gathered while dating all of five women to write a “book” (HO HO HO… ahem) is inspired. We at Blabberwocky could never have thought of this act of imaginative innovation – your expose, as we were saying, while being compelling (several readers have been compelled to keep pillows at hand while reading it), is guilty of an act of gross negligence. You have failed to acknowledge the seminal influence of Blabberwocky apropos of the nomenclature of your “book” (HO HO HO… ahem). We at Blabberwocky hereby inform you that we have as yet received no royalty for your use of the term “blabber” in your title. According to our calculations, you owe us exactly 25p – @ 1% royalty on every title sold, you seem to have sold precisely one title, at the discounted rate of Rs. 25. (Between us, while this shows a great love for your fellow human being, it might not be such a sound business proposition). We would also be obliged if you could forward us the name and address of this carbon-based biped of reduced noetic abilities that bought your “book” (HO HO HO… ahem) as we are looking to test our newly-developed nerve gas on somebody stupid enough to let us.
We shall be grateful for an early receipt.
Thanking you,
Yours faithfully,
Blabberwocky.
P.S. A minor suggestion, if you will? We recommend you remain anonymous if a second edition comes out. Or perhaps a pseudonym? Egotistical Haverer seems apt to us, but of course it’s your call.
(This is the latest Blab on the Board)
- Butt Seriously
A Letter to the Author
Dear Mr. Dasgupta,
First of all, Blabberwocky is somewhat disturbed at this turn of events. Your brilliantly-researched new expose of life in JUDE – using material gathered while dating all of five women to write a “book” (HO HO HO… ahem) is inspired. We at Blabberwocky could never have thought of this act of imaginative innovation – your expose, as we were saying, while being compelling (several readers have been compelled to keep pillows at hand while reading it), is guilty of an act of gross negligence. You have failed to acknowledge the seminal influence of Blabberwocky apropos of the nomenclature of your “book” (HO HO HO… ahem). We at Blabberwocky hereby inform you that we have as yet received no royalty for your use of the term “blabber” in your title. According to our calculations, you owe us exactly 25p – @ 1% royalty on every title sold, you seem to have sold precisely one title, at the discounted rate of Rs. 25. (Between us, while this shows a great love for your fellow human being, it might not be such a sound business proposition). We would also be obliged if you could forward us the name and address of this carbon-based biped of reduced noetic abilities that bought your “book” (HO HO HO… ahem) as we are looking to test our newly-developed nerve gas on somebody stupid enough to let us.
We shall be grateful for an early receipt.
Thanking you,
Yours faithfully,
Blabberwocky.
P.S. A minor suggestion, if you will? We recommend you remain anonymous if a second edition comes out. Or perhaps a pseudonym? Egotistical Haverer seems apt to us, but of course it’s your call.
(This is the latest Blab on the Board)
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Well, the puja is finally over and college starts again tomorrow.It will be great to be back and see everyone...however,I dread the classes that UG3 will be having for the rest of the month.Tests, term papers, exams...shudder shudder.Not to mention waking up early.I guess all of us feel the same na?As Teleute mentioned today, it would have been fun if we had college during vacation, which would be college but no college.
And maybe you guys cld do something about the actual Blab, the one on the wall I mean.
And maybe you guys cld do something about the actual Blab, the one on the wall I mean.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Respect
Though I am posting this on Blabberwocky, this is serious. I just thought I would be able to reach out to a lot of poeple through Blabberwocky. This is for all self-respecting indivuals. All of you must have heard about a pony-tailed guy called Arindam Chaudhuri who runs an institute called IIPM and has written some rotten book. Beware! He is like Parnab.
Quizzers might have heard about Gaurav Sabnis. He USED to work for IBM. He pointed out some of the hilarious claims of IIPM on his blog.This resulted in him resigning from his job and being slapped with a 125 CRORE lawsuit. IIPM are filing suits against all bloggers who "defame" their institution. A 21 year old girl who came out in support of Gaurav has also been threatened with a 175 crore lawsuit.
My ignorance prevents me from doing something. Will better informed indivuals please chalk out a plan so that we can prevent Gaurav from getting into further trouble.
Quizzers might have heard about Gaurav Sabnis. He USED to work for IBM. He pointed out some of the hilarious claims of IIPM on his blog.This resulted in him resigning from his job and being slapped with a 125 CRORE lawsuit. IIPM are filing suits against all bloggers who "defame" their institution. A 21 year old girl who came out in support of Gaurav has also been threatened with a 175 crore lawsuit.
My ignorance prevents me from doing something. Will better informed indivuals please chalk out a plan so that we can prevent Gaurav from getting into further trouble.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Maddox Square and all that
The lights are blinding, the air smells of bubbling oil and grease, the jabber and chatter are deafening, the earth whimpers in protest against the millions of kicking feet. No, dear reader, you aren’t dashing to glorious immortality in the Battle of the Bulge. You’re entering Maddox Square on Saptami evening. Something tells me the Bulge would’ve been safer.
All hell breaks loose. The entire city seems to be here, decked out in her glittering green sari and his new burgundy kurta. There is an apocalyptic feel to the whole thing, as if this is everyone’s last day alive, and must be made most of. Comparisons to the Black Hole of Calcutta spring, not inappropriately, to mind. You need to pick your way around, taking care to avoid stepping on the innumerable ebullient groups of young men and women sitting on the grass and having the time of their lives. Having navigated this human minefield successfully, you breathe a sigh of relief – the main pandal is a mere hop away – only to sink into wet mud. “O well”, you say, brushing aside these minor inconveniences, “the greater end, etc”, and walk into the mandap.
And then it hits you. The crowd seems to melt away as you walk towards the protima (the process is speeded up if you happen to have, like I did, a friend weighing close to 30 stone clearing the way for you). The sheer grandeur is breathtaking. The Goddess with her large beautiful eyes, the heady fumes of incense, the foot-tapping rhythms of the four dhakis… there is something so fabulously irreligious about Durga Pujo. It is the one time of the year when the Bengali shakes of his lethargy and actually works hard at having fun. There’s song and dance, love floats in the air, old friends greet each other amidst much backslapping; Pujo is when the good times roll, and it almost makes the horrendously overcharged three-hour journey worth your while.
But come next Pujo, you’d be well advised to do what I’ll do – kick off your shoes, order pizza and reread Goodbye to All That. It’s easier on the nerves.
All hell breaks loose. The entire city seems to be here, decked out in her glittering green sari and his new burgundy kurta. There is an apocalyptic feel to the whole thing, as if this is everyone’s last day alive, and must be made most of. Comparisons to the Black Hole of Calcutta spring, not inappropriately, to mind. You need to pick your way around, taking care to avoid stepping on the innumerable ebullient groups of young men and women sitting on the grass and having the time of their lives. Having navigated this human minefield successfully, you breathe a sigh of relief – the main pandal is a mere hop away – only to sink into wet mud. “O well”, you say, brushing aside these minor inconveniences, “the greater end, etc”, and walk into the mandap.
And then it hits you. The crowd seems to melt away as you walk towards the protima (the process is speeded up if you happen to have, like I did, a friend weighing close to 30 stone clearing the way for you). The sheer grandeur is breathtaking. The Goddess with her large beautiful eyes, the heady fumes of incense, the foot-tapping rhythms of the four dhakis… there is something so fabulously irreligious about Durga Pujo. It is the one time of the year when the Bengali shakes of his lethargy and actually works hard at having fun. There’s song and dance, love floats in the air, old friends greet each other amidst much backslapping; Pujo is when the good times roll, and it almost makes the horrendously overcharged three-hour journey worth your while.
But come next Pujo, you’d be well advised to do what I’ll do – kick off your shoes, order pizza and reread Goodbye to All That. It’s easier on the nerves.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
And Back Again
Well...Blabberwocky, in conjunction with the Cornell University Literature Dept., is organising an online protest parade against thinkers, intellectuals and philosophers. Those of you blessed enough to actually have a fast internet connection can watch the parade (which will take place in Ithaca, New York State) Wednesday week, the 19th of October, on the Cornell website. And now, for some more grotesque ways in which thinkers died...here are some I came up with after a prolonged session in the watering hole :
Samuel Beckett - impatience
Roland Barthes - destructured (Aniruddh suggests 'orgasmed'!)
Mikhail Bakhtin - eaten by circus lions
Edward Said - shanghaied
Thank You. Stay tuned.
Ed's note: Vladimir Propp just folkin' died!
Samuel Beckett - impatience
Roland Barthes - destructured (Aniruddh suggests 'orgasmed'!)
Mikhail Bakhtin - eaten by circus lions
Edward Said - shanghaied
Thank You. Stay tuned.
Ed's note: Vladimir Propp just folkin' died!
Friday, September 30, 2005
Down with the Philo Dept., or Why Insomnia is Bad Bad Bad
"Gentlemen, it is a fact that every philosopher of eminence for the last two centuries has either been murdered, or, at the least, been very near it, insomuch that if a man calls himself a philosopher, and never had his life attempted, rest assured there is nothing in him; and against Locke's philosophy in particular, I think it is an unanswerable objection (if we needed any) that, although he carried his throat about him in this world for seventy-two years, no man ever condescended to cut it."
- Thomas de Quincey, "Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts".
Well, Ladies, Gentlemens and other Judeans-at-large,
This is what happens when you pay too much attention to the nature of God, the hopelessness of man, and the chances of torrential rain in pre-Bronze Age Tenochtitlan. You become a philosopher. Then you die. This is how some of these tyrants died -
Calvin: Predestined
Camus: Found exit
Darwin: Became unfit
Derrida: Deconstructed
Descartes: Stopped thinking
Einstein: Diced with God
Foucault: Disempowered
Freud: Slipped
Hegel: Gave up the Geist
Heisenberg: Uncertain causes
Levi-Strauss: Eaten by natives
Machiavelli: Intriguing causes
Marx: Material causes
Ockham: Shaved beyond necessity
Pirsig,Robert: Motorcycle crashed
Plato: Caved in
Pythagoras: Squared on the hypotenuse
Rand, Ayn: Objectified ego
Rousseau: Contract job
Sartre: Nothing doing
Saussure: Parole revoked
Zeno: Run over by tortoise
- Thomas de Quincey, "Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts".
Well, Ladies, Gentlemens and other Judeans-at-large,
This is what happens when you pay too much attention to the nature of God, the hopelessness of man, and the chances of torrential rain in pre-Bronze Age Tenochtitlan. You become a philosopher. Then you die. This is how some of these tyrants died -
Calvin: Predestined
Camus: Found exit
Darwin: Became unfit
Derrida: Deconstructed
Descartes: Stopped thinking
Einstein: Diced with God
Foucault: Disempowered
Freud: Slipped
Hegel: Gave up the Geist
Heisenberg: Uncertain causes
Levi-Strauss: Eaten by natives
Machiavelli: Intriguing causes
Marx: Material causes
Ockham: Shaved beyond necessity
Pirsig,Robert: Motorcycle crashed
Plato: Caved in
Pythagoras: Squared on the hypotenuse
Rand, Ayn: Objectified ego
Rousseau: Contract job
Sartre: Nothing doing
Saussure: Parole revoked
Zeno: Run over by tortoise
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
A Middle English lyric
I have a gentil cok,
Croweth me day;
He doth me risen erly,
My matins for to say.
I have a gentil cok,
Comen he is of gret;
His comb is of red corel,
his tayel is of jet.
I have a gentil cok,
So gentil and so smale;
His spores arn of silver white,
Into the worte-wale.
His eynen arn of cristal,
Loken all in aumber;
And every night he percheth him
In min ladyes chaumber.
Middle English Lyrics, ed.Luria and Hoffman;Norton Critical Edition.
[N.B.for my classmates:this is not an attempt to advertise my course!]
Croweth me day;
He doth me risen erly,
My matins for to say.
I have a gentil cok,
Comen he is of gret;
His comb is of red corel,
his tayel is of jet.
I have a gentil cok,
So gentil and so smale;
His spores arn of silver white,
Into the worte-wale.
His eynen arn of cristal,
Loken all in aumber;
And every night he percheth him
In min ladyes chaumber.
Middle English Lyrics, ed.Luria and Hoffman;Norton Critical Edition.
[N.B.for my classmates:this is not an attempt to advertise my course!]
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Thus Sprach Don Chakraborty
"I was about to say 'momentous moment', but that would've sounded funny."
-On the experience of reading
-On the experience of reading
Friday, September 23, 2005
Anglo-Saxon kaora
Benefits of studying Old English poetry.
Riddle 25
[The Exeter Book, fol. 106b – 107a]
Translated by S.A.J Bradley, Anglo-Saxon Poetry, London, 1982
I am a wondrous creature: to women a thing of joyful expectancy, to close-lying companions serviceable. I harm no city-dweller excepting my slayer alone. My stem is erect and tall – I stand up in bed – and whiskery somewhere down below. Sometimes a countryman’s quite comely daughter will venture, bumptious girl, to get a grip on me. She assaults my red self and seizes my head and clenches me in a cramped place. She will soon feel the effect of her encounter with me, this curly-locked woman who squeezes me. Her eye will be wet.
Answer in the comments section.
Riddle 25
[The Exeter Book, fol. 106b – 107a]
Translated by S.A.J Bradley, Anglo-Saxon Poetry, London, 1982
I am a wondrous creature: to women a thing of joyful expectancy, to close-lying companions serviceable. I harm no city-dweller excepting my slayer alone. My stem is erect and tall – I stand up in bed – and whiskery somewhere down below. Sometimes a countryman’s quite comely daughter will venture, bumptious girl, to get a grip on me. She assaults my red self and seizes my head and clenches me in a cramped place. She will soon feel the effect of her encounter with me, this curly-locked woman who squeezes me. Her eye will be wet.
Answer in the comments section.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
move over oedipus...
... for Mandal Bijoy Beg is here!
more from the Evergreen Mirthfest...
I ENVY
Wah, fanatastico,
A Phoenix, wah!
A work of sculpture
So sublime, so sweet!
A mind so full of peace!
A heart so soft and sublime!
The naked babe,
With so tiny a penis,
Sucking the open plump breast
Of his mother, bonny and nude!
Baby, thou art Innocence
And I Experience!
I am a suffering soul,
Forever lost in gloom
And I do envy thee!
Monday, September 19, 2005
please read out loud to your near and dear ones...
from the Evergreen Mirthfest by Mandal Bijoy Beg, unearthed from the veritable treasure trove that is JUDE...
MY PUSSY-CAT
You are my own sweet pussy-cat
And I love you so very much
Pussy pussy o my own nice pussy-cat
I love to give you my tender touch.
Oh your furs are so silky and soft
Your face is so lovely to look at
Your nose and mouth are damp and soft
You are my own sweet pussy-cat.
I'll go to a friend's house to-night
He asked me to take you there with me
There he'll give you cream to-night
And I know you will very glad be.
MY PUSSY-CAT
You are my own sweet pussy-cat
And I love you so very much
Pussy pussy o my own nice pussy-cat
I love to give you my tender touch.
Oh your furs are so silky and soft
Your face is so lovely to look at
Your nose and mouth are damp and soft
You are my own sweet pussy-cat.
I'll go to a friend's house to-night
He asked me to take you there with me
There he'll give you cream to-night
And I know you will very glad be.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
YAYY!!!
dear all,
we take great and delirious pleasure in informing yoy that we are the first hit on the google search for 'blabberwocky'. yay. Yay. YAY!!!
bloody incredible. all rejoice.
and sandy, thanks for the tip.
p.s: and my blog doesn't even figure in till the EIGHTH page of a google search with the blog name. i demand universal sympathy.
p.p.s: how do you like the colour effects? he he he!!!
we take great and delirious pleasure in informing yoy that we are the first hit on the google search for 'blabberwocky'. yay. Yay. YAY!!!
bloody incredible. all rejoice.
and sandy, thanks for the tip.
p.s: and my blog doesn't even figure in till the EIGHTH page of a google search with the blog name. i demand universal sympathy.
p.p.s: how do you like the colour effects? he he he!!!
Friday, September 09, 2005
blabblabblab
CALAMITY!!!!
We are no longer the first hit on Google. We've been dethroned to No.2. Damn, I say. And blast, for good measure.
Moving on to more serious things, in the light of our guiding principles of cheap trashy sensationalism, Blabberwocky is preparing to unleash the cheapest, trashiest, most sensational article EVER on the Blabberboard. It should be out by the end of next week. Keep your eyes peeled to the B.Board.
Now, Sandy and other coords, I think we oughtta legalise anonymous comments on this blog. AND, since everyone seems so hung up about that word verification jazz, please get rid of it someone. Also, someone please tell me what it is!!
Now, why is everyone so scared of writing here (or on the board, for that matter)?? Please, people. A strapped-for-articled editor's heartrending plea goes out to you. PLEEEEEEEZE write. Or I'll howl. Waaa.
It also seems that there has been a significant upswing in the number of homicidal maniacs in the dept. First there was Priyanka and her Perilous Pen. Now there's Aratidi and her Fatal Fork. I say, is this contagious, this Murder by Household Implement Disease??
Oh, by the way, WRITE, u good-for-nothing slobs. I'm begging you here.
We are no longer the first hit on Google. We've been dethroned to No.2. Damn, I say. And blast, for good measure.
Moving on to more serious things, in the light of our guiding principles of cheap trashy sensationalism, Blabberwocky is preparing to unleash the cheapest, trashiest, most sensational article EVER on the Blabberboard. It should be out by the end of next week. Keep your eyes peeled to the B.Board.
Now, Sandy and other coords, I think we oughtta legalise anonymous comments on this blog. AND, since everyone seems so hung up about that word verification jazz, please get rid of it someone. Also, someone please tell me what it is!!
Now, why is everyone so scared of writing here (or on the board, for that matter)?? Please, people. A strapped-for-articled editor's heartrending plea goes out to you. PLEEEEEEEZE write. Or I'll howl. Waaa.
It also seems that there has been a significant upswing in the number of homicidal maniacs in the dept. First there was Priyanka and her Perilous Pen. Now there's Aratidi and her Fatal Fork. I say, is this contagious, this Murder by Household Implement Disease??
Oh, by the way, WRITE, u good-for-nothing slobs. I'm begging you here.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Why oh why??
Tintinda's batch, it seems, wanted to be taken to Istanbul to "analyse the Hippocrene of the European Renaissance" (ahem). How 'bout pestering Don Chakraborty to take us to some like place? Methinks we should all force Sukantada to offer his Renaissance course again and throw in a free trip to the Vatican ('free' being the operative word). What say Judeans at large?
Also, while you're at it, does anyone know why L. Ron Hubbard, in his Scientological interpretation of Eliot's poetry (which may or may not exist), calls Eliot's Modernism as being contiguous with Ayn Rand's Objectivism? Also tell me the exact co-ordinates of the parallel universe in which an Archbishop of Canterbury might be Roman Catholic. Laurence Anderson specifically, I think. UG3's who've attended the intensely rejuvenating Eliot classes, SPEAK UP.
Also, while you're at it, does anyone know why L. Ron Hubbard, in his Scientological interpretation of Eliot's poetry (which may or may not exist), calls Eliot's Modernism as being contiguous with Ayn Rand's Objectivism? Also tell me the exact co-ordinates of the parallel universe in which an Archbishop of Canterbury might be Roman Catholic. Laurence Anderson specifically, I think. UG3's who've attended the intensely rejuvenating Eliot classes, SPEAK UP.
ADG - "Of Air-Conditioners"
"This bloody thing isn't working. I've finally come to this great realisation."
- ADG, on the Conference Room AC, which, like God, works in mysterious ways. Ahh, the apple falls.
- ADG, on the Conference Room AC, which, like God, works in mysterious ways. Ahh, the apple falls.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
In a bid to entice those few men from the UG1 to play football, the JUDE Football Faction has decided to offer you hard to believe incentives. The FOOTIE CHICKS you see above are real (unlike their implants). Those who participate in JUDE Football over the next year with be eligible for the WIN WIN SCHEME! In this scheme you will each draw numbers at the begining of the season. At the end of the footballing calender we will select your numbers from a LUCKY DRAW. When your number is selected you are entitled to select your special FOOTIE CHICK (according to club) for a romantic date in Soho, London. We shall continue drawing the numbers untill there are none left. Remember, you cannot choose a FOOTIE CHICK if she's already taken by your batchmate. Before you proceed to completely ridicule this scheme let me inform you of the BUMPER PRIZE! Since there are more FOOTIE CHICKS than men in UG1, the last man is free choose all of the remaining FOOTIE CHICKS!!!!! Too good to be true?!?!?! Listen up people! Due to budget constrains we can only sponsor a single one-way return ticket from London. We thought we should let you know these minor details in the begining...so that we're not labelled Dirty Rotten Scoundrels or any such fancy term. By unanimous decision within the JUDE Football Faction, the first LUCKY NUMBER shall recieve the one-way return ticket from London-Dhaka (Its a short bus ride over the border for God's sake!) We, the members of the JUDE Football Faction, firmly believe that the guy with the last number should puchase his own tickets and not let this golden opportunity slip between his fingers. (You may cheer on your favourite FOOTIE CHICK in the comments section)
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
freedom
a lonely dance in
an empty room
long after the music
has stopped
she steps carelessly
forgetting to feel
cutting her feet on
shards of glass
trailing
a picture of crystal and red
and for a moment she forgets
who she is
this poem is copyrighted.
http://ruinsoftheday.blogspot.com/2005/07/freedom.html
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Friday, August 19, 2005
Monday, August 15, 2005
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Friday, July 29, 2005
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Football
Does this blog have enough football aficiandos for me to shamelessly promote football in JU or do I have to be ashamed about it? Guys and gals (no discrimination at all) LET'S PLAY! We've got a field, we've got (foot)balls, heck we've got corridors... and let's not forget, we're the most skilled footballers around. Who else in the whole wide world has played football-tennis in a corridor?
Also in news, There's a Clean-up Drive on Monday at 9:30am( I think).Check with someone better informed.
Also in news, There's a Clean-up Drive on Monday at 9:30am( I think).Check with someone better informed.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Oh Look, The Editorial!
The first edit of this semester. For your reading pleasure.
Blabberwocky is stunned. The BlabberBoard, it seems, was sacrificed to thunder lightning and rain on the day of the BA admissions. An abandonment of this sort to weather fit only for the darkest corners of Hell has cut us to the quick. Indeed, we have been rendered blabberless at this colossal act of treachery. We might even bawl. So there.
However, good news! The Board has been wiped and dried and will start dishing out the usual trash as soon as we get enough intellectually-bankrupt freshers to contribute. (It appears everyone else has wised up by now). True to our stringent quality control, this semester too will see a lack of creativity of the worst sort. After all, we have a standard we never rise above, and it shall be maintained always.
We are delighted to have been informed that we have now become, among other things, an Agony Aunt column. Anything to attract more readers, we say. (Readership was last estimated at 2 editors, the Agonised, 1 Bob Kane wannabe, and the department dog). So, Angry? Lonely? Hurt? Depressed? Suicidal? Maniacal? Ecumenical? Grammatical? Indefinite article? Worry not. Write us at The BlabberBoard, c/o Blabberwocky. Oh, and by the way, do remember the liberal donations.
And now to the freshers (heh heh). We recommend copious quantities of the Jeevesian Pick-Me-Upper before you set eyes on Blab (or rather thick dark glasses. Opaque, preferably). Also, to reiterate, our Cult of Anonymity is now the stuff of legend – in spite of the few determined idealists who are still fighting, in vain, we may add, to preserve their right to individual expression. Therefore, if you’re writing for Blabberwocky, Anonymity is Guaranteed. Trust us, you’ll need it. Of course, if you want to put up bad poetry and be the butt of all jokes for the next fortnight, you’re welcome. We don’t mind a good butt ourselves.
On a more serious note, we have been observing with no little concern this disturbing habit of teachers to unleash examinations left right and centre. What with PROTESTS of all kinds being in vogue this season, we think we should protest against this highly inconvenient practice. So, Blabberwocky welcomes protest literature in prose, poetry and drama. Interesting protest names will receive special mentions. Some helpful tips – Stuff you can protest against: the government, fascism, any more Matrix movies, Doulas cough syrup, the editors’ sense of humour et al.
By the way, did any of you watch LIVE 8?? History is being created. What are we going to do?
Any ideas?
Write.
Thanks.
Kanti & Sudipto
P.S. Be cool. Check out the BlabberBlog at theblabberwocky.blogspot.com. It rocks. Grab your invites while they last!!
Blabberwocky is stunned. The BlabberBoard, it seems, was sacrificed to thunder lightning and rain on the day of the BA admissions. An abandonment of this sort to weather fit only for the darkest corners of Hell has cut us to the quick. Indeed, we have been rendered blabberless at this colossal act of treachery. We might even bawl. So there.
However, good news! The Board has been wiped and dried and will start dishing out the usual trash as soon as we get enough intellectually-bankrupt freshers to contribute. (It appears everyone else has wised up by now). True to our stringent quality control, this semester too will see a lack of creativity of the worst sort. After all, we have a standard we never rise above, and it shall be maintained always.
We are delighted to have been informed that we have now become, among other things, an Agony Aunt column. Anything to attract more readers, we say. (Readership was last estimated at 2 editors, the Agonised, 1 Bob Kane wannabe, and the department dog). So, Angry? Lonely? Hurt? Depressed? Suicidal? Maniacal? Ecumenical? Grammatical? Indefinite article? Worry not. Write us at The BlabberBoard, c/o Blabberwocky. Oh, and by the way, do remember the liberal donations.
And now to the freshers (heh heh). We recommend copious quantities of the Jeevesian Pick-Me-Upper before you set eyes on Blab (or rather thick dark glasses. Opaque, preferably). Also, to reiterate, our Cult of Anonymity is now the stuff of legend – in spite of the few determined idealists who are still fighting, in vain, we may add, to preserve their right to individual expression. Therefore, if you’re writing for Blabberwocky, Anonymity is Guaranteed. Trust us, you’ll need it. Of course, if you want to put up bad poetry and be the butt of all jokes for the next fortnight, you’re welcome. We don’t mind a good butt ourselves.
On a more serious note, we have been observing with no little concern this disturbing habit of teachers to unleash examinations left right and centre. What with PROTESTS of all kinds being in vogue this season, we think we should protest against this highly inconvenient practice. So, Blabberwocky welcomes protest literature in prose, poetry and drama. Interesting protest names will receive special mentions. Some helpful tips – Stuff you can protest against: the government, fascism, any more Matrix movies, Doulas cough syrup, the editors’ sense of humour et al.
By the way, did any of you watch LIVE 8?? History is being created. What are we going to do?
Any ideas?
Write.
Thanks.
Kanti & Sudipto
P.S. Be cool. Check out the BlabberBlog at theblabberwocky.blogspot.com. It rocks. Grab your invites while they last!!
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
verbatim, i swear!
"i have ten minutes, i might as well waste it"
ADG, before proceeding to tell us about the life of Richard Hunn which was predominated by deaths, his own among others.
ADG, before proceeding to tell us about the life of Richard Hunn which was predominated by deaths, his own among others.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Profspeak
“Every time you see the word ‘unnatural’ in Renaissance drama, be prepared for Parental Guidance. There’s going to be incest in it.”
- Swapanda on Renaissance Political Thought!!
“In the 18th century opera-houses, some people were fighting, some people were wandering backstage and some people were eating fruit.”
- Tintinda, on Englishmen and The Beggar’s Opera
“Try not to use the acronym for the Oxford History of English Literature – O Hell!”
- SukChau, in form.
“For a long time I have been taking classes with two people. Sometimes three. This is so disconcerting.”
- PB, on being faced with a class of 40-odd.
Dibyajyoti: “He goes to Hell…”
SukChau: “Yes. But he doesn’t stay there, poor
man.”
-SukChau, wanting to know the story of The Divine Comedy.
- Swapanda on Renaissance Political Thought!!
“In the 18th century opera-houses, some people were fighting, some people were wandering backstage and some people were eating fruit.”
- Tintinda, on Englishmen and The Beggar’s Opera
“Try not to use the acronym for the Oxford History of English Literature – O Hell!”
- SukChau, in form.
“For a long time I have been taking classes with two people. Sometimes three. This is so disconcerting.”
- PB, on being faced with a class of 40-odd.
Dibyajyoti: “He goes to Hell…”
SukChau: “Yes. But he doesn’t stay there, poor
man.”
-SukChau, wanting to know the story of The Divine Comedy.
April Fools'
Well, this (along with other, equally cheap potshots at profs) appeared on the BlabberBoard on the 1st of April, 2005, and created quite a stir, believe you me. It seems we haven't lost our flair for yellow journalism yet, eh?
DISCLAIMER:
Today being All Fools’ Day, Blabberwocky will carry highly objectionable remarks and expletives. Please feel free to feel offended.
P.S. Blabberwocky is not responsible for the standard of drivel it carries today. All responsibility is merely coincidental.
P.P.S. Blabberwocky’s now legendary ideal of anonymity may or may not be adhered to.
And now, here are the much-debated comments.
Critically analyse and creatively ruminate over the lost locks of Tintinda …
- Who cares why he did it!?! He’s looking DAMN cute!!
- They were beginning to look like a new species of fungus.
- Overheating, mebbe???
- “Rape of the Lock” – someone calling himself Samson Agonistes (methinks this was Samantakda).
- The “lion” minus the mane, ehh?!! (Rafatda, I think)
- Licentious lice.
- The locks were growing inwards.
- They were getting in the way during karate classes!!
- HIGHLY UNFAIR – first he looked like a college kid, now he looks like a schoolboy. Gives him ample scope to sneak up on people discussing him.
- The imagined existence of his locks as knitting yarn for his innumerable pet cats.
- And this one was suggested by the man himself –
“Hadst thou…been content to seize
Hairs less in sight, other hairs than these.” !!!
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Editorial 2
In a bid to create an archive to rival every other major archive, all the cool stuff that's been on Blabberwocky will be posted. So, here's the second editorial that came out.
Please note: We think our editorial was rather cool.
Blabberwocky is Overjoyed, Ecstatic, and Shocked out of its Smelly Socks to announce that readership has increased, from a previous high of 2 (editors included) to a staggering 7 and a half. The editors claim full credit for this phenomenal upsurge of interest in the inane and demand an immediate refund on their overheads – Rs.14/- for the cello tape and a madur for Rimidi. The pins come free.
It is with a sense of Doylesque beguilement that we note the tendency of BlabLit towards anonymity. You actually believed our “anonymity is guaranteed” bull. It amazes us. We at Blabberwocky feel this is a determined stand in the denying of intellectual property rights. We’re still unsure of exactly how.
In keeping with this recent and evidently popular tradition, therefore, the editors shall henceforth also remain anonymous. We think that’s a rather cool idea.
Blabberwocky’s come out with some great stuff these past few days. We’ve had a triptych cartoon by Anon; a Song for Seventeen Paise by , coincidentally, Anon; severe meditations on the sense of humour of hammers, again by Anon; and a very boring newsletter of the Be Serious Society (founded, among others, by Anon). Which makes one wonder - how, with this enormously talented Anon character around, did Soumik and Aritra ever manage to get put up?
So keep sending us radicalchics and salmonofdoubts. Especially if they’re by Anon.
Thank you,
Anon.
Please note: We think our editorial was rather cool.
Blabberwocky is Overjoyed, Ecstatic, and Shocked out of its Smelly Socks to announce that readership has increased, from a previous high of 2 (editors included) to a staggering 7 and a half. The editors claim full credit for this phenomenal upsurge of interest in the inane and demand an immediate refund on their overheads – Rs.14/- for the cello tape and a madur for Rimidi. The pins come free.
It is with a sense of Doylesque beguilement that we note the tendency of BlabLit towards anonymity. You actually believed our “anonymity is guaranteed” bull. It amazes us. We at Blabberwocky feel this is a determined stand in the denying of intellectual property rights. We’re still unsure of exactly how.
In keeping with this recent and evidently popular tradition, therefore, the editors shall henceforth also remain anonymous. We think that’s a rather cool idea.
Blabberwocky’s come out with some great stuff these past few days. We’ve had a triptych cartoon by Anon; a Song for Seventeen Paise by , coincidentally, Anon; severe meditations on the sense of humour of hammers, again by Anon; and a very boring newsletter of the Be Serious Society (founded, among others, by Anon). Which makes one wonder - how, with this enormously talented Anon character around, did Soumik and Aritra ever manage to get put up?
So keep sending us radicalchics and salmonofdoubts. Especially if they’re by Anon.
Thank you,
Anon.
AHHH
Well... this blog thingummy is rather ripping. Finally, the march of progress has caught up. this BlabberBlog is delightful. Thanks, Sandy.
Now then, here's a sneak preview of the imminent assault on the collective Judean senses, viz., THE EDITORIAL.......
" ..... Write.
Thanks.
Kanti & Sudipto
P.S. Be cool. Check out the BlabberBlog at theblabberwocky.blogspot.com.
Grab your invites while they last!! "
To read more of the scintillating new editorial, rush to your nearest BlabberBoard (or pay me some money and I'll mail it you).
Now then, here's a sneak preview of the imminent assault on the collective Judean senses, viz., THE EDITORIAL.......
" ..... Write.
Thanks.
Kanti & Sudipto
P.S. Be cool. Check out the BlabberBlog at theblabberwocky.blogspot.com.
Grab your invites while they last!! "
To read more of the scintillating new editorial, rush to your nearest BlabberBoard (or pay me some money and I'll mail it you).
A Hitch Hiker's Guide To The Tempest
Here's something I had lying around my computer,I have'nt written it,by the way.
TEMPESTHITCHHIKER REMIX
Written with appologies to Douglas Adams and Shakespeare
ACT I,scene i
Enter Slartibartfast and Trillian
Slartibartfast: Trillian
Trillian: Here, Slartibartfast. What's up dear?
Slartibartfast: Trillian, speak to Eddy. Quickly (impatient) or we'll hit a star, pronto pronto.
Eddy: You rang.
Trillian: Hey Eddy; be happy be good for once; Prepare the ship! Do what Slartibartfast (oh what a Hunk! ) says. He knows best. Take us through this asteroid belt quickly, and mind the...ah...black hole on the left there.
Enter Arthur, Ford and Marvin
Arthur: Ah! Trillian I see you're working. Where's Slarti?
Trillian: Go away, get back to your room.
Arthur: Where is he, the old town planner? (Aside) Very clever with town planning he is. See he doesn't start with the buildings, he actually starts with the dirt. He says it gives you that individual flair.
Trillian: Can't you see we are trying to save the ship. Go back to your space. If you don't go we will never get through this asteroid belt and we'll hit that black hole on the left. What care these asteroids have for the great President Beeblebrox? To your space. Silence, we're working.
Ford: Great but just remember it's the President we have aboard.
Trillian: There is no other that I love more than myself. If you are able by some art to command these asteroids to their own quarters and make them give up and insult some other weirdly craft. No...I thought not, so look happy and just sod off.
Arthur: I have great faith in thee Slartibartfast. He has never crashed, he knows the ropes, he'll pull us through. A bit like Qantas when you think about it.
Trillian: Steer it gently Eddy steer her, bring her back to main course. Eddy be careful they are monstrous asteroids, careful, steer her right...no left...now left...left a bit more...too much...back right...
Eddy: Would you stop it I know my job, I don't need some one to tell me what to do. Hey guys don't you realise I'm Eddy your friendly shipboard computer here to help YOU and make our journey as comfortable as possible.
Trillian: Shut-up, Eddy what was that a bump, a scrape, perhaps the BLACK HOLE.
Arthur: Stop it you...you dog. I curse you!
Trillian: If you think yourself so clever then why don't you help. Do some work. All the trip you sit in your space playing with that silly thing in your ear.
Arthur: It's not silly it's a Babble fish I might tell you and a very good one at that...bred on the shores of - well I don't know, some bloody good place far off in that part of the galaxy where they wear there skin inside out. I think your a wimp and are scared, Squirede cat sitting on a lion's mat. I indeed do think we will get sucked into the black hole and we will all die.
Trillian: Be quiet! Eddy.
Eddy: Hello there, you rang. Is there anybody there who wants some Tea? I have just put the kettle on.
Trillian: What are you making tea for at a time like this? Can't you see, or haven't you been steering. We are going towards the BLACK HOLE. Eddy now pay attention. Do a uey and get us out of here.
Eddy: No use darlings, there is no way out of this. Nice knowing you guys but I'd like to say guys now would be a good time for you all to gather around in a circle and say a few mantras or discuss what you think happens after you die.
Trillian: A breeze I feel, my body its warping, softening and bending unusual directions. Arthur stop acting like a penguin. My foot has drifted into the back of the console...where's my left arm...Hey Zaphod that's not fair.
Arthur: I see Zaphod you just go and don your peril sensitive glasses and not do anything.
Zaphod: Hey look monkey it's OK by me if you wish to splay yourself all over this cool cabin and turn yourself into funny shapes but just don't do it while I'm watching. Look can't you see I'm in the middle of a crisis, what with my arm flying off with that towel over there...
Eddy: Hello guys I hope you are enjoying the trip. We have entered the black hole and what a pretty sight it is outside, there goes Dame Edna, such pretty colours. Everything out there.
Arthur: Look at us this is getting ridiculous...my arm.
Zaphod: Guys this is great fun but it seems to have the sort of effect on my head as a Pan Galactic Gargleblaster. Ouch!
Ford: Mercy on us dear God save us. Goodbye life, goodbye Arthur, Goodbye Zaphod, goodbye all, goodbye. I'll take the shuttle craft and see you guys on the other side a bit latter, ie Heaven. Ciao.
Eddy: I should like to inform you all at this moment in time that I am not equipped with any shuttle craft but I have booked some to be placed on board when we next dock into a service station.
Arthur: I'm staying to protect the president.
To be continued...(ie,if anybody wants it to)
TEMPESTHITCHHIKER REMIX
Written with appologies to Douglas Adams and Shakespeare
ACT I,scene i
Enter Slartibartfast and Trillian
Slartibartfast: Trillian
Trillian: Here, Slartibartfast. What's up dear?
Slartibartfast: Trillian, speak to Eddy. Quickly (impatient) or we'll hit a star, pronto pronto.
Eddy: You rang.
Trillian: Hey Eddy; be happy be good for once; Prepare the ship! Do what Slartibartfast (oh what a Hunk! ) says. He knows best. Take us through this asteroid belt quickly, and mind the...ah...black hole on the left there.
Enter Arthur, Ford and Marvin
Arthur: Ah! Trillian I see you're working. Where's Slarti?
Trillian: Go away, get back to your room.
Arthur: Where is he, the old town planner? (Aside) Very clever with town planning he is. See he doesn't start with the buildings, he actually starts with the dirt. He says it gives you that individual flair.
Trillian: Can't you see we are trying to save the ship. Go back to your space. If you don't go we will never get through this asteroid belt and we'll hit that black hole on the left. What care these asteroids have for the great President Beeblebrox? To your space. Silence, we're working.
Ford: Great but just remember it's the President we have aboard.
Trillian: There is no other that I love more than myself. If you are able by some art to command these asteroids to their own quarters and make them give up and insult some other weirdly craft. No...I thought not, so look happy and just sod off.
Arthur: I have great faith in thee Slartibartfast. He has never crashed, he knows the ropes, he'll pull us through. A bit like Qantas when you think about it.
Trillian: Steer it gently Eddy steer her, bring her back to main course. Eddy be careful they are monstrous asteroids, careful, steer her right...no left...now left...left a bit more...too much...back right...
Eddy: Would you stop it I know my job, I don't need some one to tell me what to do. Hey guys don't you realise I'm Eddy your friendly shipboard computer here to help YOU and make our journey as comfortable as possible.
Trillian: Shut-up, Eddy what was that a bump, a scrape, perhaps the BLACK HOLE.
Arthur: Stop it you...you dog. I curse you!
Trillian: If you think yourself so clever then why don't you help. Do some work. All the trip you sit in your space playing with that silly thing in your ear.
Arthur: It's not silly it's a Babble fish I might tell you and a very good one at that...bred on the shores of - well I don't know, some bloody good place far off in that part of the galaxy where they wear there skin inside out. I think your a wimp and are scared, Squirede cat sitting on a lion's mat. I indeed do think we will get sucked into the black hole and we will all die.
Trillian: Be quiet! Eddy.
Eddy: Hello there, you rang. Is there anybody there who wants some Tea? I have just put the kettle on.
Trillian: What are you making tea for at a time like this? Can't you see, or haven't you been steering. We are going towards the BLACK HOLE. Eddy now pay attention. Do a uey and get us out of here.
Eddy: No use darlings, there is no way out of this. Nice knowing you guys but I'd like to say guys now would be a good time for you all to gather around in a circle and say a few mantras or discuss what you think happens after you die.
Trillian: A breeze I feel, my body its warping, softening and bending unusual directions. Arthur stop acting like a penguin. My foot has drifted into the back of the console...where's my left arm...Hey Zaphod that's not fair.
Arthur: I see Zaphod you just go and don your peril sensitive glasses and not do anything.
Zaphod: Hey look monkey it's OK by me if you wish to splay yourself all over this cool cabin and turn yourself into funny shapes but just don't do it while I'm watching. Look can't you see I'm in the middle of a crisis, what with my arm flying off with that towel over there...
Eddy: Hello guys I hope you are enjoying the trip. We have entered the black hole and what a pretty sight it is outside, there goes Dame Edna, such pretty colours. Everything out there.
Arthur: Look at us this is getting ridiculous...my arm.
Zaphod: Guys this is great fun but it seems to have the sort of effect on my head as a Pan Galactic Gargleblaster. Ouch!
Ford: Mercy on us dear God save us. Goodbye life, goodbye Arthur, Goodbye Zaphod, goodbye all, goodbye. I'll take the shuttle craft and see you guys on the other side a bit latter, ie Heaven. Ciao.
Eddy: I should like to inform you all at this moment in time that I am not equipped with any shuttle craft but I have booked some to be placed on board when we next dock into a service station.
Arthur: I'm staying to protect the president.
To be continued...(ie,if anybody wants it to)
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
PLAGIARISATION!!!
look how i plagiarise!!! guess who wrote this??? honestly people, don't you get tired of seeing a blank blab?
Dreamland in B/W
“Literature affects our lives”, said my father beatifically, “by making our lives illusory. Everyone thinks he’s great. Which is a good thing.” The Megalomaniac Effect. When I was young(er?), the source of all my dreams and nightmares was Enid Blyton. Kirrin Island and the Enchanted Forest, I now find, are my retrospective halcyons. Indeed, so great was their effect on me that I once indignantly decided to stop reading Blyton for I knew I’d never be able to swim to Kirrin. With age, thankfully, such stupid notions have vanished, as have my swimming abilities. But the faraway trees of the mind renew their vigour with nostalgic chunks of childhood. Literature makes me happy.Sometimes, of course, literature can have unhinging effects most detrimental to body and soul. People seem to go insane after experiencing what is now in most psychoanalytical circles called a “Shock of the Rings”. Victims start having mock-epic delusions of grandeur (every third statement is followed by a bellowing “Today we fight!”) and an abhorrent propensity to speak in tongues. A note to you, dear reader, if you are an hapless Elf-apparent – you are not J.R.R.Tolkien. Nor are you descended from a Numenorean prince. So spare us the nazg1. As the Harvard Lampoon puts it, we’re bored of the rings.Once in a long while, literature springs up behind us and takes us unawares by creating out of airy nothing great wisps of life we simply cannot do without. Conan Doyle was bombarded with abuses and requests to bring his hero back from the oblivion of Reichenbach. Such was the impact of Holmes on the late Victorian mind they could not imagine a London without him! Even today, the National Abbey Building Society, which occupies the near-mythic address of 221B Baker Street, employs a secretary to look after the personal effects and answer the private correspondence of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Holmes has fosbury-flopped his way over the narrow domestic walls of literature and stepped into sacral reality. Like Santa Claus, he has become a quasi-cultic figure ingrained for ever in the popular consciousness. Holmes is dead. Long live Holmes.The plot, as they say, thickens.2The trouble with Thomas Carlyle (other than his sentences, which are purpler and longer than most modern abridged histories of English literature) is his failure to include that most earthshaking of revolutionaries in his list of heroes3 – the Literary Critic. In Gustave Flaubert’s words, “A man is a critic when he cannot be an artist, in the same way that a man becomes an informer when he cannot be a soldier.” The effect literature has on this distinguished breed is Harmful bordering on the Fatal. Every theory seems to have a counter-theory, every new fiction is but a footnote to existing texts, and if they had their way, Post-Structuralist critiques of the Motionlessness of Pseudo-Modern Lyric Poetry would be part of the school curriculum. Of course, the cumbersome task of eliminating the author altogether troubles critics no more – Roland Barthes did that years ago4. In fact, that is what a critic is. A critic is a dead author. We need more critics.Bestsellers affect our lives in various ways. Three of my Sidney Sheldons keep the dresser from tippling over, and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix serves as heavy artillery in deterring pesky little cousins from nosing about my room. Strange thing this, about Harry Potter. Three absolutely brilliant books, and then that Rowling woman had to give in to that “most vulgar of art’s temptations: that of being a genius”5, or being called one, at least. Which is why her books have started setting benchmarks in the paperweight industry. In this respect they receive tough competition from those immortal Mills ’n’ Boonses that make me appreciate the comforting, mundane, tall-dark-handsome-enigmatic-lover-who-turns-out-to-be-a-Bolivian-guerilla-less life I lead. Flannery O’Connor once said, “Everywhere I go, I'm asked if I think the university stifles writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them.” And that seems to be that.Perhaps literature makes us all better human beings. It sensitizes us, perhaps. Makes us thinking, intellectually-greased people. Helps us understand the plight of our fellow man, woman, child and small furry creature from Alpha Centauri.Then again, maybe not. Reading literature may often be a health hazard. Wodehouse leads to apoplectic fits if taken in large doses, Joyce can be optically debilitating after Chapter 1 (“Bronze by gold heard the hoofirons, steelyrining imperthnthn imperthnthn.”6), and Jane Austen is almost as effective as Auschwitz7. There are remedies, of course. Sleep and rest. Charles Dickens. Lewis Carroll. Sleep and rest. And poetry.“Poetry makes nothing happen”, wrote Auden. Perhaps it doesn’t. But it is beautiful. It is liquid bright and sparkling. Literature need not stop a tank. It needn’t even try. Literature is, and that is all. The rest, as they say, is silence. W.H.Davies, in his poem “Leisure”, writes “A poor life this is if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.” In Shaw’s words, “If I could live my life over again I’d catch more butterflies.” Literature lets me stand and stare. It whisks me away to the realm of the Dreaming. And most importantly, it allows me to catch more butterflies.8
1 ‘Ring’, in Elvish or Gibberish or something.
2 Holmespeak. Using such phrases in quotidian speech affords the impression of schizophrenia.
3 Thomas Carlyle. Of Heroes and Hero Worship. Bring your own pillows.
4 See Roland Barthes’s “Death of the Author”. Then see a reliable shrink.
5 Read Jorge Luis Borges’s “The Approach to Al Mutasim”. On second thought, don’t.
6 James Joyce. Ulysses. p. 256. Any other page will do admirably. Every page is equally incomprehensible.
7 More.
8 “Those out may pout.Those in will grin.”From Henry Carey’s “A Lilliputian Ode On Their Majesties’ Accession”. Desperately wanted to put that in somewhere!
Dreamland in B/W
“Literature affects our lives”, said my father beatifically, “by making our lives illusory. Everyone thinks he’s great. Which is a good thing.” The Megalomaniac Effect. When I was young(er?), the source of all my dreams and nightmares was Enid Blyton. Kirrin Island and the Enchanted Forest, I now find, are my retrospective halcyons. Indeed, so great was their effect on me that I once indignantly decided to stop reading Blyton for I knew I’d never be able to swim to Kirrin. With age, thankfully, such stupid notions have vanished, as have my swimming abilities. But the faraway trees of the mind renew their vigour with nostalgic chunks of childhood. Literature makes me happy.Sometimes, of course, literature can have unhinging effects most detrimental to body and soul. People seem to go insane after experiencing what is now in most psychoanalytical circles called a “Shock of the Rings”. Victims start having mock-epic delusions of grandeur (every third statement is followed by a bellowing “Today we fight!”) and an abhorrent propensity to speak in tongues. A note to you, dear reader, if you are an hapless Elf-apparent – you are not J.R.R.Tolkien. Nor are you descended from a Numenorean prince. So spare us the nazg1. As the Harvard Lampoon puts it, we’re bored of the rings.Once in a long while, literature springs up behind us and takes us unawares by creating out of airy nothing great wisps of life we simply cannot do without. Conan Doyle was bombarded with abuses and requests to bring his hero back from the oblivion of Reichenbach. Such was the impact of Holmes on the late Victorian mind they could not imagine a London without him! Even today, the National Abbey Building Society, which occupies the near-mythic address of 221B Baker Street, employs a secretary to look after the personal effects and answer the private correspondence of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Holmes has fosbury-flopped his way over the narrow domestic walls of literature and stepped into sacral reality. Like Santa Claus, he has become a quasi-cultic figure ingrained for ever in the popular consciousness. Holmes is dead. Long live Holmes.The plot, as they say, thickens.2The trouble with Thomas Carlyle (other than his sentences, which are purpler and longer than most modern abridged histories of English literature) is his failure to include that most earthshaking of revolutionaries in his list of heroes3 – the Literary Critic. In Gustave Flaubert’s words, “A man is a critic when he cannot be an artist, in the same way that a man becomes an informer when he cannot be a soldier.” The effect literature has on this distinguished breed is Harmful bordering on the Fatal. Every theory seems to have a counter-theory, every new fiction is but a footnote to existing texts, and if they had their way, Post-Structuralist critiques of the Motionlessness of Pseudo-Modern Lyric Poetry would be part of the school curriculum. Of course, the cumbersome task of eliminating the author altogether troubles critics no more – Roland Barthes did that years ago4. In fact, that is what a critic is. A critic is a dead author. We need more critics.Bestsellers affect our lives in various ways. Three of my Sidney Sheldons keep the dresser from tippling over, and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix serves as heavy artillery in deterring pesky little cousins from nosing about my room. Strange thing this, about Harry Potter. Three absolutely brilliant books, and then that Rowling woman had to give in to that “most vulgar of art’s temptations: that of being a genius”5, or being called one, at least. Which is why her books have started setting benchmarks in the paperweight industry. In this respect they receive tough competition from those immortal Mills ’n’ Boonses that make me appreciate the comforting, mundane, tall-dark-handsome-enigmatic-lover-who-turns-out-to-be-a-Bolivian-guerilla-less life I lead. Flannery O’Connor once said, “Everywhere I go, I'm asked if I think the university stifles writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them.” And that seems to be that.Perhaps literature makes us all better human beings. It sensitizes us, perhaps. Makes us thinking, intellectually-greased people. Helps us understand the plight of our fellow man, woman, child and small furry creature from Alpha Centauri.Then again, maybe not. Reading literature may often be a health hazard. Wodehouse leads to apoplectic fits if taken in large doses, Joyce can be optically debilitating after Chapter 1 (“Bronze by gold heard the hoofirons, steelyrining imperthnthn imperthnthn.”6), and Jane Austen is almost as effective as Auschwitz7. There are remedies, of course. Sleep and rest. Charles Dickens. Lewis Carroll. Sleep and rest. And poetry.“Poetry makes nothing happen”, wrote Auden. Perhaps it doesn’t. But it is beautiful. It is liquid bright and sparkling. Literature need not stop a tank. It needn’t even try. Literature is, and that is all. The rest, as they say, is silence. W.H.Davies, in his poem “Leisure”, writes “A poor life this is if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.” In Shaw’s words, “If I could live my life over again I’d catch more butterflies.” Literature lets me stand and stare. It whisks me away to the realm of the Dreaming. And most importantly, it allows me to catch more butterflies.8
1 ‘Ring’, in Elvish or Gibberish or something.
2 Holmespeak. Using such phrases in quotidian speech affords the impression of schizophrenia.
3 Thomas Carlyle. Of Heroes and Hero Worship. Bring your own pillows.
4 See Roland Barthes’s “Death of the Author”. Then see a reliable shrink.
5 Read Jorge Luis Borges’s “The Approach to Al Mutasim”. On second thought, don’t.
6 James Joyce. Ulysses. p. 256. Any other page will do admirably. Every page is equally incomprehensible.
7 More.
8 “Those out may pout.Those in will grin.”From Henry Carey’s “A Lilliputian Ode On Their Majesties’ Accession”. Desperately wanted to put that in somewhere!
agitations
hello people
This post is not an attempt to convince all of you to take up Middle English, only for you to support Teleute and myself in our efforts at taking up the same.If you can think of any reasons why the Board of Studies has any right to prevent us from learning about Arthur and the rest of the Medeival gang please do try and convince us that we are wrong, or else help us persuade the Board of Studies...
This post is not an attempt to convince all of you to take up Middle English, only for you to support Teleute and myself in our efforts at taking up the same.If you can think of any reasons why the Board of Studies has any right to prevent us from learning about Arthur and the rest of the Medeival gang please do try and convince us that we are wrong, or else help us persuade the Board of Studies...
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