a euphemism for P's poorest prose: warm excrement flowing from a pathetic puppet's mouth

[alice wellintown]

> Vibe's extended metaphor here is a game of musical chairs.
>
> "Their foolish music is about to stop, and it is they who will be
> caught out, awkwardly, most of them tone-deaf and never to be fully
> aware, few if any with the sense to leave the game early and seek
> refuge before it is too late.  Perhaps there will not, even by then,
> be refuge."

That daisy chain screw turning, buy low, sell to a seller, toa
flipper, to a sucker.
>
> well, all the games of musical chairs i ever played, nobody left and
> sat down early - although i guess one could have...
> but the way his talk of the game turns sinister, twists the metaphor
> metaphysically, it's pretty cool i guess - right?  as far as depicting
> the ravings of a mad plute in front of a crowd of his homies he's
> egging on!

That I can't hear. Maybe I'm tone deef or somethin, but I simply don't
hear Vibe talking to that crowd, eggin them on. He seems to be
preaching to the choir, that is, his readers. And, it's ugly because
it's Pynchon talking to us, his readers in Vibe. I mean, there's
nothing wrong with Zinn's cartoon history book or the Simpson's go to
washington or whatever, but I was expecting more from the Pyncher
here. And, I suspect there may be more to it than meets the ear.

Thanks MB; you teach well and with humor and tact and cleverness.