This then is thy locus

3.

Ruinous Pride Like Unto a Selfmurder Effecshuated by some Secret Inner Übergoon

            But now the old bone was a boastright, a sad mump of lies and hollow pride.  For there is a thing callt Truth; and in Truth, he hath but fivescoreyear less two.  But he touteth unto Co’lutus an hundreds twelveyear, and with a charring nib hath charr-ed upon the rock his notien of that far number.  For this evil realm exerteth influences, and bringeth up outen a man the worst, even a pride of false extra age in the age-ed.

            And Coccolutius, tu, were influenst, and felt his wurst being brought up outen him, which was his bolt of mischief that sireth broods of wretchedness.  And his mind effuse-ed, and he brake heady, saying, An hundreds past twelve!  What then, primordiate Cronos Titani-ani-anus, mayst thou to buy at market with that grand purse of years accrued?  Will it fetch for us drums of lentilbeer, and loafs, and lovers, our paucity of pocket notwithstanding?

            And the sleet of antique eyes went upon him; and Coccolutus were right ice-ed.  Yet by & by spake that hoary bragaboo on the rock, saying, All neath us & about, this yard is dire turf; nor doth all thy glib quippery that thou musterest trim it tame.  ’Tis in fielding such show in gamery that thou seekest to hide a mess of fear; yea, I know, for I know what men seek to hide in fielding what show.  Yet, I wud have thee give slip feardom’s creeps.  Fear not, tribulatial gameshower, thou cord of itch & twitch neath taut & straining skin!  Trepidasion hath grinded tu keen a point on thee, that thou prickst & needlest suchways deepf in my duff.  Then this for thee:  do settle!  For I say, Thou shalt pass through this valley witouts disgrunt, uncrasht by fracas, neither shalt thou dangol in the strangle-chain of the Prince & Power of the Hour.  —All this safeness, tho he is hard about.

4.

            And Coccolutus brake from his icing and answerd, saying, Schisma Grande!  Tarnish hath turnd up here today atop that boulder in my path, as all upon the sheen of the life I lead—which lyfe started with a sheen, slick like as the glide of eels (which are werofishes in the form of stringmonstors).  Old man, art thou not a tarnish upon that immensive stone?  Art thou with thy catchophrasey not a tarnish upon my life?  ’Tis yea both, both the yea, dubbel tarn thou art, olde mann.

            Then (saith Coccolutus) let me to parse recent clips from my saga:

o		I fade unto gray, and my body pitcheth me down in Malt to sleep away a slop allotment of bitter breaks.
o		Amid moos I waken rousted, to be drave ascream unto this forbidden wild as is no man’s wont, riptooth brutecows a-gnarshing after my leaden loaf.
o		Landing here, discover I some tarnish on a rock, an hunk of smut ahurling fables down upon my weary ears, an olde haint which callen me Son, tho clear do I recall that ’twas some amazing alien, and not he, that father’d me.
o		He saith also unto me, with considerbol fizz, Fear not.  And says, Thou shalt pass through witouts disgrunt.  This he saith with fizz & gristle; for he hath those qualities of speech.

            But let us assess for facts.  I am consignd by fate’s cattle hither for to dwell amongst the ghostes of my suppos-ed famly, having neither divined nor dreampt nor schemed any design to pass through on my way to any where.  For those mooing caos a-reconnoidring out there are forever, friend.  Supposest thou that they have stampft & waiting for me a courtesy ticket to the cordial seabreeze cities beyond?  —Say:  Wherefore sittest thou there?  Whence camest thou?  Who hath lent thee rein & reason to come out with such sayings as Feere Not, directing them upon traumatose escapeics like unto me?  Wherefore, tu, hast thou such many of things in thine grote-odious facebeard?  Is not that there, par examplar, the feet of a snared wren I see thrusting out?  And another goode questien:  hast thou any copper or molybdenum to spare?  (For I am sudden rusht to the bushe, and am off situatien.)

            And up on the rock, the old exaggerant bethought him a skein of cogitasien, and did commence to enpanic, finding no deflecter to these spearing questians, save for the coppershot, unto which he hath the pat parry Nay.  But superior age counseld him to fill the space with khutspa, the saviour of the humen race to date; and he fetcht out and said, I have given over unto thee this jewel, Fear not.  Is this notte aplenty?—YEA, ’tis, therefore with it abide.  Neither the more say I.

            For he thoght, An my words fall upon him with mystere, then is he apt to concede unto me in his reckoning those surreal qualities of the larger than life, keeping with my classiq posure here upon Gibraltar.  Yea, tho I desire above all to loom larger than life in the eyes of the smudglings all around, yet have I constant been unperceivd as larger than life, but alway as its same size.  This now cud change, if an I slot my beads propitious.

5

Slodtbeads:  ’Tis that game of gamblors that calleth for such-&-such beads to drop by

this-or-that order into these-&-such slottery.  Sure, thou knowest slottbeads, for every one knoweth slottbeads.  ’Twas e’en the same that wreckt the old man’s youth and made of him a wizend itinorant.  Yet seeketh he still some gain in his waste of years, salvaging from it gamblor’s metafor & wordstock with the which to floor a dazzoling vocabolarim.  Thou dost know slodttbeeds, sure; but canst thou be dazzld and gleen the meaning in his saying?

            Therefore perform-ed he handsigns commissioning the forthwith departiture of Coccolutus from that place.  And the meanings that he did knead into his handsignery were these: 

^^  >>  Haste now off the vissinidy.  >>  For after that a man hath taken a shot of Prophecy concerning him, he then pusheth wayerds—as the plain put it, upon his way—in hazey marvel amidst swarming conjexures, busied in his stun and attending not about and looking not again behind.  ’Tis full the case that the engine of his initiadiv is idled for a season, that he ventureth no immediot investigaishen, but loseth him self to envisioning of prophetical implicatiens; and straight on & sideblind with him, for prophecies concerning him have been landed!  << //

^^ ^^ >>  So ’tis, and proper, that after the rapf is on him laid, a man beholdeth never again the prophet who hath landed it upon him, but in stead goeth by the by in preoccopatiens.  And ’tis his appreciashin that prophecies of such importe as to feature him—him—cud surely issue from none but a god-prophet.  And ’tis a thing certain that this his godprophet will now be calling down a cosmical flash that consumeth pedestrien flesh, and in its caddastrophicol vacuum will be repairing to the ethers, being ever so larger than life; and ’twere not well on a man of flesh to be close unto that development, absolutily notte.  << ///

            But Coccolutus seeth not all the codger’s dismissive handdance awhizzing the air full of signsay before him, as he were seeking about for sticks, that he might manufact a frame and upon it pitch tent.  And sticks he found some, and queried their resilience, and enslav-ed them unto his design.  And offen his back peelt he his pallium, the great wrap outen which he recent had unrollt a mummey in a mausoleum; and then wedding palliem to sticks, pitcht he tent there at the rock, alongsiden the old man.  And there were little creatures here & there that seen that it was good, & eyes in the sky.

            And Coccolutus struck tinder & brung fire.  And he crouch-ed him along thereby, witnessing its flares & flickers unto distant hours in the night, he smoking the minted leafs of his stash, and chewing ghu-farut (callt goofyroot by those familier), and spitting bitter globbvs aroundabout the prophecy rock.

            And the excrutiated old boastant, commencing to quake with crampf, did there stay percht upon that rock, bagging his best sand against inundatian by waves of humiliasian.  Yet by

6

& by his leaking pride collaps-ed and a wall of woe rusht in, bearing him away tosst & awful; and he washt up limpf on the sodden beach of the finisht.  Apes’n’asses! was his thoght.  He heareth me to crank some prophecy, but thereafter seeth that I hit not the ethers.  I am ruint & rippt from high moorings.  Loss in my latter days, to match my former.   

            Neither spake either.  But there riding the rock was the boastil, and his whelmd heart was pumpfing a river of shame.

return to humble origin

relive the present

luxuriate in Ch. 4