Saturday, September 20, 2008

The Decline and Fall of a Showman's Empire

In diminishing paragraphs.

Some, no doubt, have already taken to grand proclamations of the "Death of—" ilk, emerging pale and preying from the shadows of no-talent; Ergo the failure33 of this petty revolt34 — for that is what History35 shall prove it to be — to achieve any of its initiatives36 is indicative of a greater— This, however, fails to take into account the inherent— until we're quite ready to spit ourselves clean of the matter and have those unfortunate words as the last ones. Aft. all, who's to dispute? Participants put-out, principle players played-out, and profusion off fanning itself in the shade. Add the pissed-off passers-by and you haven't a recipe for much success;— the revolution, my friend(s), is D-E-A-D (long live the revolution), and I suppose I shall have to bear the bulk of the brunt. (Lest you wonder, I suppose because my lofty predictions and assorted nonsenses are freely viewable, and shall remain so.)

Trope: from the past there is no reprieve. Right; why dwell, when something far worthier lowers itself into a late-night bath? Nonetheless, there may be remnants worth salvaging, one of which, also an R-E concept, I'm myself keen to keep in place, if less outwardly than before. (The image has proved more than a distraction; someone must have sculpted that thing!) If we, whomever that now entails, are to justify any of our idealistic exertions, we'd best hope to learn from our failings — and by that I do not mean 'know our boundaries'; boundaries should not and never be known. I mean, rather, that we should fuel future successes on past mistakes. Sure, a first-year might leave it out, focusing only on the direct lead-up to that great thing we'll do, but a third could not afford its omission, and would incur copious red pen were he-her to do so.

Even if no one has my back, even if I tumble down alone, I will tumble. (This thing ain't a ship, incidentally; it's a hill.) Grass cuts and cowards above me, I shall meet the new halfway and tumble again, bypassing once and foil the embarrassment of accidents. Stay, if you will, but I'm pressin' on. For the towel-headed harpies and clot-headed he-men. Momentum'll get me through if nothing else.

18 comments:

Kathryn said...

Now I wish we did tumble down that hill. (Only just found these diminishing paragraphs.)

Ben said...

I shall tumble. I require only some concept of what is being tumbled towards, or - perhaps, just perhaps - from.

Kathryn said...

Thank heavens we can still have two-person comment ping-pong on The Times.

No, I'm not glaring at any one in particular.

Hugh said...

Yep; this moderator is forever moderate. Even glaring at one another's particulars is permitted.

Been a while, huh?

Kathryn said...

Hurrah! (We're still waiting on Harry's penis, too, while we're on the subject of particulars. Well, not his, but one of his creation.)

Yes, it has indeed.

Brian said...

You're not the first girl who's had to wait on Harry's particulars.

Penis.

Hugh said...

Hey, whatever happened with that Revolution business? A man in the street told me it was all just a sock of jizz. Crassness aside, I can't help but feel there's some truth in that. Amidst the jizz.

Kathryn said...

Aw, poor Brian.

Hey, don't ask me — I don't have any jizz.

Moderator Steve said...

Language.

Kathryn said...

What about it?

Moderator Steve said...

It's fascinating, isn't it? All those words.

Kathryn said...

Yep, and even the rude ones are in the dictionary. I've looked.

Hugh said...

Quote us some!

Brian said...

Yeah!

Kathryn said...

Do it yourself.

Hugh said...

Please?

Kathryn said...

Cunt you do it yourself?

Hugh said...

Not as entertainingly.