AtDDtA1: One of His Many Talents

[Dave Monroe]

   "Suddenly what sounded like a whole kennelful of dogs began to bark
furiously.  'Pugnax,' explained Darby, noting Chick's alarmed
expression.
   "'Him and what else?'
   "'Just ol' Pugnax.  One of his many talents. Guess we'd better go
and have a look.'" (AtD, Pt. I, Ch. 2, p. 17)


"a whole kennelful of dogs"

Cf. ...

   ... "you'll think I'm crazy, Oed. But I can do the same thing in
reverse. Listen to anything and take it apart again. Spectrum
analysis, in my head. I can break down chords, and timbres, and words
too into all the basic frequencies and harmonics, with all their
different loudnesses, and listen to them, each pure tone, but all at
once." "How can you do that?"
   "It's like I have a separate channel for each one," Mucho said,
excited, "and if I need more I just expand. Add on what I need. I
don't know how it works, but lately I can do it with people talking
too. Say 'rich, chocolaty goodness.'"
   "Rich, chocolaty, goodness," said Oedipa. "Yes," said Mucho, and
fell silent. "Well, what?" Oedipa asked after a couple minutes, with
an edge to her voice.
   "I noticed it the other night hearing Rabbit do a commercial. No
matter who's talking, the different power spectra are the same, give
or take a small percentage. So you and Rabbit have something in common
now. More than that. Everybody who says the same words is the same
person if the spectra are the same only they happen differently in
time, you dig? But the time is arbitrary. You pick your zero point
anywhere you want, that way you can shuffle each person's time line
sideways till they all coincide. Then you'd have this big, God, maybe
a couple hundred million chorus saying 'rich, chocolaty goodness'
together, and it would all be the same voice."
   "Mucho," she said, impatient but also flirting with a wild
suspicion. "Is this what Punch means when he says you're coming on
like a whole roomful of people?" "That's what I am," said Mucho,
"right. Everybody is." He gazed at her, perhaps having had his vision
of consensus as others do orgasms, face now smooth, amiable, at peace.
She didn't know him. Panic started to climb out of a dark region in
her head. "Whenever I put the headset on now," he'd continued, "I
really do understand what I find there. When those kids sing about
'She loves you,' yeah well, you know, she does, she's any number of
people, all over the world, back through time, different colors,
sizes, ages, shapes, distances from death, but she loves. And the
'you' is everybody. And herself. Oedipa, the human voice, you know,
it's a flipping miracle." His eyes brimming, reflecting the color of
beer.
   "Baby," she said, helpless, knowing of nothing she could do for
this, and afraid for him.... (Lot 49, p. 116-7)

http://www.innternet.de/~peter.patti/thomaspynchon-thecryingoflot49.htm