Witold & I: A CosmosPrelude(Why? What an absurdity!)Anyhow, here goes, Witold and I, and our silent adventure:Part I: The EnticementWitold approached me in the park today. Tevion fs 5000 software engineering. He asked me to read his latest book. Just needed an opinion, he said.I knew he was getting to be a big shot in Poland these days. I also knew he had been dabbling quite a bit in Philosophy at the University. So when he gave me his book, I was sure I would end up looking for philosophy in it even though he assured me i [.].
As fate would have it, the Polish writer Witold Gombrowicz was stranded in Buenos Aires at the beginning of World War II. He had achieved sufficient literary celebrity within Poland as the author.
Some time ago I was having a conversation with a friend of mine about women, specifically the art of figuring out which ones are interested in you, and he was saying that he never felt confident that he was reading the signs right; and that this lack of confidence, in a sense, paralysed him, so that he rarely approached them. He wanted to know how I managed it. How was it that I was always so sure? Well, I let him in on a little secret: stop worrying about signs, as you’ll only confuse yoursel [.].
Sparrow hanging in senseless success. A choked chicken adds to the symbol equation. Fish-face's boss hates him. In an accident they stay the night. Her mouth was a big bang. Everything means nothing, and behind that mouth this mouth.
If you fuck someone you fuck everyone they have ever sheet between. Her mouth behind other her mouth, his hands on her hands your hands. Can't pick out ugly star from hot star from her sun star on his glow-worm.
White ceiling skies betray signs. Dyslexic mystery.
The copy of Cosmos that I own had been read previously by a college student who clearly wouldn't have read it otherwise. At first, his marginalia are serious and boring, like his essays no doubt. It's clear he had read a textbook, remembered a term or two from it, watched how his professer used it, waited for his chance to parrot him.
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It's also clear that he was also not thinking for himself. Then, beginning on page 70(wherein a violent killing is described), he gets fed up. He stops thinking th [.]. Confound me!An absurd sight of a sparrow hung from a string begins this unique tale of great paranoia and even greater mental contrivance. The central idea is of how a chaotic world is routinely, perpetually, even grudgingly, willed by us human beings into some sort of an order, and how the effects of this willing add in turn to the chaos. Meaning thereby that man's position in the world, while necessarily that of an observer and a learner, is also, out of that same necessity, that of an a [.].