Pynchon appeal, Phallologocentrism, Romance 1 of 2

[Glenn Scheper]

> face it: pynchon never got anyone laid.

> but i think pynchon should be a lived experience.
> run this by scheper, see what he says.

Let's see. Is the Word of God, "Come", or "Fuck"?

Pro Come:
John 1:1 In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.
1:2 The same was in the beginning with God.

Rev 22:17 And the Spirit and the bride say,
Come. And let him that heareth say,
Come. And let him that is athirst come.
And whosoever will,
let him take the water of life freely.

Pro Fuck:
1:3 All things were made by him;
and without him was not any thing made that was made.

5:13 And every creature which is in heaven,
and on the earth,
and under the earth,
and such as are in the sea,
and all that are in them,
heard I saying,
Blessing, and honour,
and glory, and power,
be unto him that sitteth upon the throne,
and unto the Lamb for ever and ever.
(That throne is Fuck.)

Once you have had the self-referential name experience,
and clearly, Pynchon has, one is overtaken by paradox.
For example, how can one auto-anything another person?

22:37 Jesus said unto him,
Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart,
and with all thy soul,
and with all thy mind.
22:38 This is the first and great commandment.
22:39 And the second is like unto it,
Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

        ---

Emily Dickinson, whom I recognize as a tantric fellow,
lived as a recluse. One poem described being layed in a
tomb, slain for Beauty. A man was lain, slain for Truth.
I infer they could only come together in the beyond.

Disjoint ED snippets...

My noon had come, to dine-
I, trembling, drew the table near
And touched the curious wine.
'T was this on tables I had seen
When turning, hungry, lone,

That "heaven" is, to me.
The interdicted ground

To wander now is my abode;
(Hey, same thing as (IS) the Wandering Jew.)

Our pace took sudden awe,
Our feet reluctant led.
Before were cities, but between,
The forest of the dead.

Tell him the page I didn't write;

Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

And touch the pantomime himself.

A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,
To note the fashions of the cross
Of those that stand alone
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own.

I studied AF 15 years before accounting for AC.
But ED show the recognition of man-terms, like:

A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.

As I was perusing and reducing the many links for Emily Dickinson,
and came to the following observation, I restrained an audible cry,
but my chest heaved so, and tears streamed down, for I knew exactly
what sort of crisis had befallen Emily Dickinson, which no one near
her, nor her biographers and commentators since, have appreciated.

"This crisis is usually ascribed to a failed romantic relationship."

Emily Dickinson, evidencing autocunnilingus, proves the epistemological
advantage of men is a mere six inch head start to the table of the soul.

Such female rarity can explain the rarity of Pynchon appeal for women.
Of course, instruction may wrest mimickry, but only the Word inspires.

Yours truly,
Glenn Scheper
http://home.earthlink.net/~glenn_scheper/
glenn_scheper + at + earthlink.net
Copyleft(!) Forward freely.