Κοινόκοσμος καὶ Κωματόκοσμοι

• ὁ Ἡράκλειτός φησι τοῖς ἐγρηγορόσιν ἕνα καὶ κοινὸν κόσμον εἶναι τῶν δὲ κοιμωμένων ἕκαστον εἰς ἴδιον ἀποστρέφεσθαι. — Σέξτος Ἐμπειρικός, Πρὸς μαθηματικούς

• • Heraclitus said that for the waking is one common world, but the sleeping turn aside each into a world of his own. — Sextus Empiricus, fl. 150 A.D., Adversus Mathematicos / Against the Mathematicians (or: Against the Professors), VII. 129


Post-Performative Post-Scriptum

Κοινόκοσμος, Koinokosmos, “common-world”, “shared cosmos” ← κοινός, koinós, “common”, “shared” + κόσμος, kosmos, “world”, “order”, “universe”; καὶ, kai, “and”; Κωματόκοσμοι, Kōmatokosmoi, “sleep-worlds” ← Greek κῶμα, kôma, “deep sleep” + κόσμος, kosmos

Vowel-Voided Verse

THE RUSSO-TURKISH WAR

WAR harms all ranks, all arts, all crafts appal;
At Mars’ harsh blast arch, rampart, altar fall!
Ah! hard as adamant a braggart Czar
Arms vassal-swarms, and fans a fatal war!
Rampant at that bad call, a Vandal band
Harass, and harm, and ransack Wallach-land.
A Tartar phalanx Balkan’s scarp hath past,
And Allah’s standard falls, alas! at last.

THE FALL OF EVE

EVE, Eden’s empress, needs defended be;
The Serpent greets her when she seeks the tree.
Serene she sees the speckled tempter creep;
Gentle he seems — perverted schemer deep —
Yet endless pretexts, ever fresh, prefers,
Vervetts her senses, revers when she errs.
Sneers when she weeps, regrets, repents she fell,
Then, deep-revenged, reseeks the nether Hell!

THE APPROACH OF EVENING

IDLING I sit in this mild twilight dim.
Whilst birds, in wild swift vigils, circling skim.
Light wings in sighing sink, till, rising bright.
Night’s Virgin Pilgrim swims in vivid light.

INCONTROVERTIBLE FACTS

NO monk too good to rob, or cog, or plot.
No fool so gross to bolt Scotch collops hot.
From Donjon tops no Oronooko rolls.
Logwood, not lotos, floods Oporto’s bowls.
Troops of old tosspots oft to sot consort.
Box tops our schoolboys, too, do flog for sport.
No cool monsoons blow oft on Oxford dons,
Orthodox, jog-trot, book-worm Solomons!
Bold Ostrogoths of ghosts no horror show.
On London shop-fronts no hop-blossoms grow.
To crocks of gold no Dodo looks for food.
On soft cloth footstools no old fox doth brood.
Long storm-tost sloops forlorn do work to port.
Rooks do not roost on spoons, nor woodcocks snort.
Nor dog on snowdrop or on coltsfoot rolls.
Nor common frog concocts long protocols.

PHILOSOPHY

DULL humdrum murmurs lull, but hubbub stuns.
Lucullus snuffs up musk, mundungus shuns.
Puss purrs, buds burst, bucks butt, luck turns up trumps;
But full cups, hurtful, spur up unjust thumps.

• from Literary Frivolities, Fancies, Follies and Frolics compiled by by William T. Dobson (1880)

A Pox on Tox

This is 2026. Headlines like this are NOT acceptable:


As soon as I saw that, I thought: “Harmful”? Harmful schmarmful! It should be toxic

Funnily enough, when I looked at the story itself, it was toxic. That is, it was “toxic”:

That’s the way it should be. Or rather, the way it should be when English isn’t used the way it should be. As I’ve said pre-previously:

There’s only one word for it: toxic. The proliferation of this word is an incendiarily irritating abjectional aspect of contemporary culture. My visit to Google Ngram has confirmed my worst suspicions:

Use of “toxic” in English over the decades

• Continue reading Get Your Tox Off

Dog-Gristle Politics

As Reform seeks a statement victory in Gorton and Denton, with a candidate who has made dog-whistle nativism his calling card, Manchester has again become a political crucible. […] As Nigel Farage’s intellectual outriders speak of a “politics of home”, which casts doubt over certain citizens’ right to be considered British, a billionaire tax exile in Monaco has added grist to their mill. — “Guardian view on Sir Jim Ratcliffe: Britain does not need political lectures from a billionaire tax exile”, The Guardian, 12ii26

Ein Licht im Nichts

„Soweit wir erkennen können, besteht der einzige Zweck der menschlichen Existenz darin, ein Licht in der Dunkelheit des bloßen Seins zu entzünden.“ — Carl Jung (1875-1961)

• “As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.”

Der Pharao des Farnen

Clark Ashton Smith and some ferns in 1958 (Eldritch Dark)

I, too, am capable of observation; but I am far happier when I create everything in a story, including the milieu. This is why I do my best in work like “Satrampa Zeiros”. Maybe I haven’t enough love for, or interest in, real places to invest them with the atmosphere that I achieve in something purely imaginary. […] As for the problem of phantasy, my own standpoint is that there is absolutely no justification for literature unless it serves to release the imagination from the bounds of everyday life. I have undergone a complete revulsion against the purely realistic school, including the French, and can no longer stomach even Anatole France. […] Well, I must put a scientific — or at least a pseudo-scientific — curb on my fancy if I am to sell anything. — Clark Ashton Smith, letter to H.P. Lovecraft, 9th January 1930


The Wine of Words: Valorizing the Verbiviniculture of Clark Ashton Smith

Green Grass Growing

green (adj.)

Old English grene, Northumbrian groene “green, of the color of living plants,” in reference to plants, “growing, living, vigorous,” also figurative, of a plant, “freshly cut,” of wood, “unseasoned” earlier groeni, from Proto-Germanic *grōni- (source also of Old Saxon grani, Old Frisian grene, Old Norse grænn, Danish grøn, Dutch groen, Old High German gruoni, German grün), from PIE root *ghre- “grow” (see grass), through sense of “color of growing plants.”


grass (n.)

Old English græs, gærs “herb, plant, grass,” from Proto-Germanic *grasan, which, according to Watkins, is from PIE *ghros- “young shoot, sprout,” from root *ghre- “to grow, become green,” thus related to grow and green, but not to Latin grāmen “grass, plant, herb.”


grow (v.)

Middle English grouen, from Old English growan (of plants) “to flourish, increase, develop, get bigger” (class VII strong verb; past tense greow, past participle growen), from Proto-Germanic *gro-, from PIE root *ghre- “to grow, become green” (see grass).


EtymOnline

Vers d’un Veuf

El Desdichado

Je suis le Ténébreux, – le Veuf, – l’Inconsolé,
Le prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie :
Ma seule étoile est morte, – et mon luth constellé
Porte le Soleil noir de la Mélancolie.

Dans la nuit du tombeau, toi qui m’as consolé,
Rends-moi le Pausilippe et la mer d’Italie,
La fleur qui plaisait tant à mon cœur désolé,
Et la treille où le pampre à la rose s’allie.

Suis-je Amour ou Phébus ?… Lusignan ou Biron ?
Mon front est rouge encor du baiser de la reine ;
J’ai rêvé dans la grotte où nage la syrène…

Et j’ai deux fois vainqueur traversé l’Achéron :
Modulant tour à tour sur la lyre d’Orphée
Les soupirs de la sainte et les cris de la fée.

Gérard de Nerval, Les Chimères (1856)


The Misfortunate One

I am the Dark One, – the Widower, – the Inconsolable,
The Prince of Aquitaine in the ruined tower:
My only star is dead, – and my star-studded lute
Bears the black Sun of Melancholy.

In the night of the tomb, thou who consoledst me,
Give me back Posillipo and the Italian sea,
The flower that so pleased my desolate heart,
And the vine where the tendril entwines with the rose.

Am I Love or Phoebus?… Lusignan or Biron?
My brow is still red from the queen’s kiss;

I dreamed in the grotto where the siren swims…

And twice victorious I crossed the Acheron:
Fingering in turn from Orpheus’s lyre
The sighs of the saint and the cries of the fairy.

Maven of Mixcegenation

The obfuscating and intentional doublespeak swirling around the emotive cauldron ingredients of “immigration”, “illegal immigration” and “small boats” has been intentionally leveraged into mainstream political and media jargon by Reform UK, big tech algorithms, and thence into the baying mob. […] We are daily enriched by, and should feel deeply indebted to, the many people of colour in this and other sectors of our society. — “This capitulation to racist rhetoric will not end well for Labour or Britain”, letter by Quentin Cowen of Laxfield, Suffolk in The Guardian, 18xi25


Post-Performative Post-Scriptum

“The obfuscating and intentional doublespeak swirling around the emotive cauldron of…” woulda bin even betterer. If the ingredients aren’t bubbling away in the emotive cauldron, why would doublespeak bother to swirl around them? It certainly wouldn’t swirl around them as much, one would’ve thought. And does “emotive cauldron ingredients” mean “emotive-cauldron ingredients” or “emotive cauldron-ingredients”? Maybe it’s both. I’m also struck by the implications of “intentionally leveraged”. Is it possible to “unintentionally leverage” something? Not in this context, one would have thought. And if doublespeak is swirling, that is, if it’s fluid, it’s hard to see how one could exert leverage on it.

Etc, etc. Like all the best Guardianese, this passage is passionately pregnant with interrogation-inducing imagery in a way that is very difficult to achieve by conscious effort. Perhaps Quentin has been smoking some wacky baccy or other psychoactive stimulant supplied by one of the many Persons of Colour enriching his life and fighting da power in da extensive hoodz of Laxfield, Suffolk.