Douglas Mercer
November 1 2024
William Pierce knew that we are made of the same stuff as the Earth and the stars, that we are the expanding consciousness of an evolving Universe, and that your soul is, in a very profound sense, the soul of the Universe itself—Kevin Alfred Strom
We are one man learning—Blaise Pascal
Ralph Waldo Emerson was one of those High Caste Aryans who lived in New England known as the Brahmins. They were an elect of the elect descending from the Puritans who came to America and who looked for all the world like Jews: dressed in black, reading a book, ten kids and giving their children funny names like Glory Be To God or Do Right of Keep Clean. As time wore on the elite of this elite outgrew the stale belief in the divinity of Jesus Christ so much so that Emerson put on the hat of a prophet and said that in the future every man would become a Unitarian. Poe was a dissenter from this transcendentalist mish mash and called the stuffed shirts of his day Frog Pondians, he rather focused on the dark and dreary world of conundrums that underlay the mysterious dreams of the next life.
That Unity, that Over-Soul, within which every man’s particular being is contained and made one with all the others; that common heart of which all sincere conversation is the worship; but in the meantime within man is the soul of the whole; this third party or common nature (namely, the Over-Soul), is not social, it is impersonal: is the god. And so in groups where debate is in earnest, and especially on the highest and most mighty of questions, the company becomes aware that the thought rises to an equal level in all bosoms, that all possess an equal spiritual property in what is said, and the speaker or writer is incidental. They all become wiser than they were. It arches over them like a temple, this unity of thought in which every heart beats with nobler sense of power and duty, and thinks and acts with unusual solemnity. All are conscious of attaining to a higher self-possession. It shines for all and it shines for all equally.
That is we are one man learning.
Emerson’s conception of the Over Soul is that all knowledge is common and shared but that knowledge must enter into the public realm in order for it to a qualify. Once words have been published they no longer belong to the speaker any more than the bullet belongs to the gun once fired or the billet-doux belongs to the sender once sent to the lover, or the bulletin belongs to the promulgator once posted. The words in each case belong to the god no matter how much property is appalled; that is it belongs to each and every one of us to the extent that we hear and understand and remember it.
Carl Jung was an analytic or depth psychologist who posited the collective unconscious, a pool of life into which all men find themselves wading, a kind of spirit of the times and the spirit of all times; these archetypes bubble up universally but the words that emanate do not count in the game until they are published (not simply thought of spoken). That is they must be common property of all before they register their effect. Jung posited a cybernetic field or an information field or a semantic field in which all men potentially partake but the goal of the field (ie, the god) is that the collective unconscious become conscious, and mindful of its own existence and purpose.
The Glass Bead Game was a concept of Herman Hesse in which a game run by a game master is held and each cultural or linguistic value is represented by a musical note. The game is a game that moves as we play and transforms and adapts, that is the game’s structure is both strong enough to last, and flexible enough to change and so retains its identity even as it rushes on and transforms. The Over-Soul, the Collective Unconscious, and the Glass Bead Game are the same thing, these are just different words for the same primal thing, as everyone enters into this field in their own way and at their own pace but it is the selfsame field they are entering. That is, we are all of us in this vibration. How close to the center a player gets depends wholly on the player’s courage, acumen and skill.
A more pedestrian way to put this is the old notion that intellectual history is comprised of A Great Conversation.
We are one man learning.
Hurry Up Please It’s Time.
Harold Bloom wrote a famous book called The Anxiety Of Influence in which he posited that latecomers quake and quail at their predecessors greatness (the old Battle Of The Ancient and Moderns of the 18th Century). But this anxiety is misplaced as it was Newton who said that to stand on the shoulders of giants is to see farther than them. The fathers do not need to be killed or feared or evnvied, they need to be worshiped and built on for having instructed us and sent us on our way (it is a poor student who does not excel his master said Da Vinci). In Bloom’s book it is also the latecomer who (supposedly) resorts to taboo (edgelord) words and ideas in order to transgress; but this is incorrect as well; in the book it is also said that the latecomer is the one who is the purpose of creation, that is he is the one who like Humpty Dumpty is able to put it all back together again and say what words mean, neither less nor more. That is he is the master. That much he got correct.
It is a deep human instinct to fear something looming behind one. Don’t look back because something must be gaining on you as it is said. It is called the Ancient world but we moderns are actually in the ancient world, being in a universe which is older and more wise. The final latecomer lives in all of his predecessors’ wake and once they the living ones get wind of it it will make them uneasy, as no one likes to be approached from behind.
To the base charge of Plagiarism we counter with Pelagianism. Eliot was correct that immature poets do not imitate but steal. She could steal but she could not rob (McCartney). In the Shrieking Sixties at the high water mark all of us were always nicking something (McCartney). Property is always appalled but information wants to be free; and is free. Hamlet said the words once spoken were no longer his.
They say that Milton was the last person who had read everything printed; so there will in theory always be gaps. But some things said are most important than others and one must simply by skill and cunning learn where the word hoard of the Rhine Gold lies, and then keep one’s eye on the ball. Once on enters into the field of words the words grab you by the wrist and show you where to go.
Now that we found
Another key
What are we going to play?
The Rules Of Engagement:
All information can be considered provided it is published (not just gathering dust on one’s hard drive).
Words or concepts are sites and have eternal value of valence, they are however positions that can be flipped to their antitheses or used with cutting irony; words also have multiple meanings which form a unified constellation forming around a concept.
To be master one must capture, control and kill and flip.
The information is free and is alive.
Pynchon says that the system is too unstructured to be made sense of but this is false; it is a system in flux and is protean and elastic but the valence of the words remain stable but flexible. Each part of the hologram contains the whole though each part looks on the whole from a different perspective.
It is the symbols that matter. Kill, capture, control, flip.
The game is up for grabs, that is may the best man win, the god is looking for the most powerful narrative to adopt as its own. The stakes are winner takes all.
Fate is not set but made (we make it up as we go along).
The precursors (say before 1960) were at a signal disadvantage in that they came early and were not exposed to enough. We latecomers have been exposed to incalculably more and are thus is a position to assess the whole.
***
Ted Hughes posited that Shakespeare generated a cybernetic filed of word and symbols that is ever living and self-replicating. He is the ground control of the system. Shake spear. Spirit. Sword word.
Mr. WH
The letter W is made up of 2U’s. U is the same letter as V.
Hughes.
U2 / V2 (Pynchon’s V, victory sign, peace sign)
The people who have fully entered into the field is a short one (by order of birth):
JD Salinger
Thomas Pynchon
John Lennon
Paul McCartney
David Byrne
Tori Amos
Charles Thompson
You will notice that the writers came first but outlasted the singer-poets. There are more singers-poets on the list because singer-poets are closer to the inspiration of the muse and music and closer to intuition therefore; their deficit is that they don’t have the intellectual background or depth or mental breadth to sort it all out and explicate it and thus they tend to be washed up when the mysterious muse averts her glance and deserts them leaving them high and dry. Descartes said that poets often speak more truth than philosophers because they exist in more mantic states and come up with phrases and lyrics that are more resonant of meaning than dry recitations of fact or narrative. This is true but abstract thought is a feast and in the end one needs simply to grind out the abstraction and with enough motivation one never runs out of ideas, whereas melodies are more apt to vanish in the air and leave one hanging.
Lennon: now that you found another key, learned how to play the game, he got early warning, because the world is round it makes me high, put on by the children for a lark, nothing is real, all play the game. Famously said he was bigger than Jesus, search fruitlessly for the spear that killed Jesus; ended his life in a creative funk, his so-called Creative Renaissance consisted of a few decent songs, much tripe, and he had to have his banshee wailing wife complete the rest of the album. Being dead puts a crimp on one’s productivity, but then he believed he was dead before he got shot; perhaps he was only sleeping. In a dead letter box now he is.
McCartney had a much longer and much better run than his erstwhile partner, the man with the thousand voices, when at last we find her her song will fill the air, it’s coming up, it’s coming down fast, lightening hits the house of wax, studies pataphysical, the man of her dreams comes to break her spell, her face in the jar by the door. After this really rather impressive streak he petered out in the end falling back on known grooves and now drops words like harmonic to no discernible effect. He has now lived through his vocation (everything he did was Yesterday).
Byrne: the transportation is here, it always happens in Oklahoma, thought control you can get on board any time you like, dreams walking in broad daylight, the burning keeps me alive, down in the basement we hear the sound of machines, all wet you might need a raincoat, everything is stuck together. Started out as an edgy avant gardist or figure of cybernetic inscrutability and has ended up as mellow gray haired bicycle rider holding up a brain on Broadway and trying to pass it off as deep. That is he is terminally out of gas.
Amos: our weird little sister Tori with her policy of trancing came up with a monster song in Don’t Make Me Come To Vegas and a supernal one with Toast but for all her bragging that she went to the other side with her encyclopedia she barely dipped her toes in the River Styx and now she wails and banshee screeches to a tune she’s written over and over—that is she is toast and we will go to Vegas whenever we want thank you very much.
Thompson: wrote the key song in the series The Happening (see The Celestial City, White Biocentrism, June 22 2024): they are going to lay it down right on the strip, this is not the planet of sound, cease to resist saying our goodbyes, I see the cloning of the famous family, I sent a letter to Memphis (Egypt), speed leaving there shall be no warning. Had three intense years of activity 1988 to 1991 and then wandered off into musical obscurity. Washed up and over.
All of the above served their purpose (that is they lived through their vocations) and then the ever capricious muse moved on to more promising milieus; if still living, they are currently sad cases.
***
Dead Men tell no tales but the ever-canny J.D. Salinger has positioned himself in a way that could be considered an historical anomaly; writing several intense books by the time he was forty and then suddenly stop publishing. His son claims he wrote all day every day come rain or shine for the last four decades of his life and that there is serious tranche on the hard drive that may one day come over the transom. Presumably it will come trickling out in either dribs or drabs during the Thirties; until it is published we must act as if it did not exist for that is how things stand; should it come we shall review it to see if anything needs to be modified which is unlikely; though an open mind if the best mind. Salinger himself is a baffling Janus figure, half Jew, worked for the OSS, a classic trigger and MK Ultra figure, is said to have interrogated National Socialists (which could mean anything), is said to have married a National Socialist sympathizer in Germany, lost his mind at the Battle of the Bulge, was a gung ho anti-communist and an old Cold Warrior, was implacably opposed to the Beats and the Hippies, wore an Army Jacket and drove around his compound in a Jeep, turned down Jacqueline Kennedy’s personal offer on the phone to speak up as an “artist for civil rights,” is said to have been involved in Operation Paperclip, wrote an MK Ultra trigger book in which there were Egyptian Mummies, Three Weird Sisters, Al Pike, Masons, and a protagonist who sleeps with Ely, and brought Sappho’s charge to raise high the roof beam carpenter’s into the light, has a main character named Seymour glass, mixed memory and desire; he also anticipated Tom Stoppard by wondering who would fix Fortinbras’ wagon; the answer to that is no one, Fortinbras being in sole possession of the un-fixable wagon, Fortinbras (strong arm, Armstrong) being the central figure in the drama the human stand in for the deus ex machina or the legitimate and rightful King who swoops in at one last fell swoop to clean up the blood strewn Mead Hall.
So we will put a pin in Jerome David Salinger; to see if he still lives in his vocation. Salinger has written that when he is ready to publish the remainder of his output, he will rap three times.
***
That leaves us with Thomas Ruggles Pynchon, a High Caste Aryan whose family hails from New England. He is the alleged 800 pound gorilla of world literary history. With him we get the full complement as if nature came up all cherries; waste, broken hearts, Egypt, postal, information wants to be free, the Dakota building is referenced twice in Bleeding Edge, two living on borrowed time references (Lennon) in Bleeding Edge, one hit the big time reference (Honey Pie) in Bleeding Edge, always remember, chu chu (cthulhu, Hughes) in Bleeding Edge, follow the bouncing ball, always remember, departure (Deep Archer), Masons in Mason and Dixon and Perry Mason in the Crying Of Lot 49, trees in Vineland, computer programs and splash screens and virtual reality and deep web in Bleeding Edge, V in V, bohemians in V (the whole sick crew), a reference to the Broadway Musical Oklahoma in Bleeding Edge, in the same book he also has a character randomly reference Gershom Scholem the foremost Jewish Kabala expert, just in case the laggards in the back of the class miss the point that he is writing a secret history; and that is just a cursory glance at the remarkably proliferating profusion; as if he had a list and dropped the bread crumbs in the oven war one by one at a stately pace.
Pynchon’s umbrella terms is paranoia; that is the belief that the world is a Psy Op, and there are historical plots; a condition of total knowledge is a condition of total madness, that is a condition total knowledge, of being able to connect everything with everything, imitates the condition of a psychotic breaks. Which is why courage and skill and a quiet mind serve the player well in the game.
Speaking of the Montauk Project (The Montauk Project is a conspiracy theory that alleges there were a series of United States government projects conducted at Montauk Air Force Base for the purpose of developing psychological warfare techniques and exotic research including time travel) a character in Bleeding Edge says (forensic as always): “These myths are strange attractors, they pick up little fragments of weirdness from everywhere, all the while they become too crowded so no one can look at the whole thing and believe it all, it’s too unstructured. But still we cherry pick the more intriguing pieces. God forbid we should be taken in, we’re too hip for that, and yet there is no final proof that it is not true. Pros and cons it all degenerates into arguments on the internet, flaming trolling, insinuating threads that only lead one always deeper into the labyrinth.”
No one wants to be conned
It does not get too crowded or dense; one must just file the information away at the site of a word and then when the time is right the word will speak for itself to you in order for you to sort it out at a later date.
Presumably he has a tranche as well unless he’s been doing the New York version of fuck all and watching the wheels go round and round. He certainly gives off the air of massive erudition and secret knowledge; but we learned from Donald Crowhurst that the sole sin of a second generation cosmic being is to conceal; well, perhaps he has shot his wad or, perhaps, he is not in fact a second generation cosmic being in which case being coy or sly or outright lying is run of the mill.
They say that a novel is a long narrative that has something wrong with it and this is exemplified in his works; in fact they have much wrong with them and calling them novels in the first instance is a stretch. They are more like slapstick cartoons or absurdist farces; Bleeding Edge has a woman in a bar and she starts grab assing with a man and the next thing you know they are comparing guns and are in the home of the arch villain Gabriel Ice and she has a secret code which open sesames a secret door and she sees a dim figure which jump scares her and the figure is Lovecraftian; in reality Thomas Pynchon uses his works or spurious and ersatz prose as a coat rack to hang his symbols on, paint by number narratives of no intrinsic worth except to put his message into the public realm; indeed no matter how blinding the signal is (and it is blinding) the ratio of signal to noise is astounding, and his penchant for leg pulling off the charts and gone richter. One has to tortuously wade through piles of garbage to pluck out the pearls; if conceptual art ever had anyone’s name on it is Thomas Pynchon.
The pearls are worth finding because as it stands Thomas Pynchon is now (when it comes to the field) the state of the art.
In Bleeding Edge he avers that a Jew is a clue—no shit Sherlock.
He also identifies the Jews as Absolute Zero. Heidegger had the Jews pegged as the negation of being, the Jew as the uninvited guest, the Jew as nihilism writ large, the Jew as the spirit which denies.
Nathanael West was born Nathan Weinstein in New York City, the first child of Ashkenazi Jewish parents Max (Morduch) Weinstein (1878–1932) and Anuta (Anna, née Wallenstein, 1878–1935), from Kovno, Russia (present-day Kaunas, Lithuania), who maintained an upper middle-class household in a Jewish neighborhood on the Upper West Side (what Pynchon would later satirize as the Yupper West Side). West wrote an apocalyptic book called the Locust. He also wrote a book called Miss Lonely Hearts. In Pynchon’s The Crying Of Lot 49 there is a mysterious force called Tristero (sad) and there is a support group for the broken hearted. In Eleanor Rigby Paul McCartney plaintively queries where all the lonely people come from; and the Beatles put out an album called Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band (what does one do when one’s love is away, does it make one sad to be on one’s own?); David Riesman (German Jew, Harvard) wrote a book in 1950 called The Lonely Crowd: A Study In The American Character. Loneliness is alienation and stems from the disenchantment of the world (Weber) stemming from Jewish Nihilism which by then was running rampant in former White homelands. The National Socialists on the other hand were men of joy and irrepressible spirits who were bent on enchanting the world.
***
That the National Socialists are evil is their bedrock position one that they hold on to for dear life, but they protest too much. As long as they retain this position they will be forever precluded from the Empyrean, for it is a truth by now long universally recognized that there is neither good nor evil—but only truth and the truth, as we have been told again and again since we were small children, is the only thing which will set one free. That is the idea that the National Socialist are evil is the last position to be captured, controlled, killed and flipped and, given the millions of books which have been written to the contrary, and the colossal energy which has been dedicated to painting the National Socialists in the darkest of hues of the dungeon, when it is flipped it is the one which will flip their lids.
In his book Gravity’s Rainbow Thomas Pynchon lays on the National Socialists are evil scene a faire with a trowel, so much so that had he been alive his future wife’s grandfather (Robert Jackson) would have looked forward to having him in the family. The characters are always tossing the dice in the Hermann Goring casino, strange doings are always occurring at Peenemunde, slave laborers slave away at Dora, young Germans get sacrificed in rockets, in one moment of pure schmaltz and treacle an American soldier, faced with a skeletal Jew (hadn’t had a sandwich in weeks by the gods!) by the side of the road gives the pathetic figure his ring thinking to himself what a great guy he is and that the ring will suffice to purchase a blintz (thus prefiguring Oscar Schindler by some two decades). By Bleeding Edge Pynchon avers that a “Jew is clue” (what a Jew really is is a parasite); and he (ironically of course) identifies the Jews with Absolute Zero. It’s hard to know how much Thomas Pynchon really knows (having not had him in analysis I cannot say) but this is a primal identification and often the inspired speak more than they know. It was Heidegger who said that the Jew is the negation of being, that is they were the uninvited guests who ushered in nihilism, they are the parasites of being, the spirit that denies. In other words: absolute zero.
It was Ezra Pound who said that true statements are all that matters. With them one has axioms that can be built upon to garner new truths and so on to the absolute truth.
The Jew is a clue.
The Jews are Absolute Zero: nothing.
The color of the National Socialists is brown. Often tan as well; Martin Borman’s moniker was the Brown Eminence, the Brown House, etc.
Pynchon focuses on WASTE in The Crying Of Lot 49, in Bleeding Edge a woman is said to pick up the refuse of the city and make use of it, in Bleeding Edge there is a long scene set in the City Dump; in Gravity’s Rainbow the European colonies are described as the White Man’s outhouse; similarly Charles Manson had song called Garbage Dump where he mocks society for discarding things of so much value (dumpster diving; phew it smells!). In Gravity’s Rainbow The White Man is called Lord Death, Sontag (who is cheekily named checked in Bleeding Edge) said the White Man is the cancer of human history
You get the picture. The Aryans are the trash of history, the sewage of history, are on the ash or trash heap of history, the shit of history needing to be flushed.
In Nobody Told Me Lennon cryptically says that there are Nazis in the bathroom just below the stairs (many people think he says matches in the bathroom, something people do from time to time in order to light the match to be rid of the stink; but he does not: he says Nazis). In Bleeding Edge we get a very good indication of how Pynchon operates within the Over-Soul when he writes “that CSS Nazi, like that specimen in the toilet. Later he has a character who is obsessed with Hitler, and after a long diatribe on Hitler, heads directly into the toilet. In this way Pynchon explicitly alludes to the song by the erstwhile Beatle.
Capture, control, kill and flip.
Shit is an old Anglo-Saxon word of great versatility. One can perform an action to take the shit of out someone, it can mean nothing (he does not know shit), you can give someone shit, one can say no shit, one can be a contemptible person (the little shit), they speak of the bowels of the building, and they used to speak of the bowels of Christ (supposedly the most basic thing). It can also mean fundament that is the ground. Shit also hits the fan, and people think their shit does not stink. It can also mean the most superlative thing, she thinks she’s the shit, or he thinks he’s king shit. Or something can just be the shit, the absolute best, in words that Pynchon will reflexively and Pavlovnially understand, one speaks of good shit. But what shit is most famous for is that it comes down, as in when the shit comes down you better have your shit together (it's coming down fast, Paul McCartney, Helter Skelter, 1969).
Scatological / Eschatological
In Aristophanes The Clouds Athenians compare thunder to the sound of celestial flatulence. In Greek Thunder is said βροντὴ, Bronte, and fart πορδὴ, pordé, which have some similarity, which is lost in translation. They are two different Greek words that have given etymologically the term "eschatological", which consequently has two meanings in the Spanish dictionary: ἔσχατος, eschatos (last, final,) and σκῶρ, σκατός, skor , skatos, (droppings, manure, ordure). The first meaning, says: "adj. Of pertaining to the last end of the grave". The second says: "adj. Of or pertaining to excrement and dirt."
Encyclopedia Brown: detect
Ralph Waldo Emerson (High Caste Aryan) said that John Brown had turned the gallows into the new Cross. His fellow New Englander Nathanial Hawthorne on the other hand said his only regret is that Brown could not have been hung twice. Very famously one of Hawthorne’s friends (abolitionist, weak kneed race traitor) out of the blue brought a negro to dinner at the Hawthorne’s. Being genteel and well-heeled folk Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne suffered graciously throughout the meal; but once over Hawthorne averred to his wife how atrociously awful the negro had smelled; and they never once spoke to or referred to that friend again.
Timothy Leary said that the best metaphor for the human mind was a drainage system, or a plumbing system. Bathrooms, toilets, and sewage systems all fall under the rubric of sanitation and are designed to dispose of waste, fecal and otherwise. Presumably at death one’s life flashes before one, or perhaps it flushes.
In the summer of 1859, a heat wave swept over London and as the sanitation system set up in the city was still rudimentary the city began to smell atrociously on the scorching and windless days and this terrible smell lasted for months; this time period has come down to us in the lore of history as The Big Stink. As a result the Aryans of London put their inventive heads together and solved the problem of modern sanitation once and for all.
In Bleeding Edge Pynchon has long scenes where horrible smells are highlighted. At one point in Bleeding Edge Pynchon makes the casual and random metaphor of saying that something is "casual as a sanitation truck." We speak in English with the idiom of one smells a rat. And something is always rotten in Denmark.
And so the circle has now been squared by the High Caste Aryans. It’s what happens when you spend enough time travelling around in a van solving mysteries. As for Thomas “Ruggles” Pynchon I read your books you lazy bastard. The thing is he is no longer the game master but just another poor player on the board being played; a White Knight talking backwards having told him where to go.
It's easy!
Once you have learned how to play the game.
Risk Is The Game Of Global Domination (let's play twister, let's play risk: yeah yeah yeah).
***
Notes:
Thomas Ruggles Pynchon married his literary agent, Melanie Jackon, who is a direct descendant of both Theodore Roosevelt and Robert Jackson, the infamous prosecutor at the Nuremberg Trials.
Thomas Pynchon (b. 1937) worked for Boeing and William Pierce (b. 1933) worked for Pratt Whitney; both became disenchanted by the machine and dropped out of the rat race to work for what each considered to be a Counterculture.
Pierce Inverarity is a character in The Crying Of Lot 49.
In 1864 former President Franklin Pierce gave a very sick Nathaniel Hawthorne a Mercy Killing (euthanasia).
Nathaniel Hawthorne publishes Gothic Novel The House of the Seven Gables in 1851. Rev. Thomas Ruggles Pynchon (1823-1904) writes the author a letter, complaining about the abuse of the Pyncheon name. This Rev. Thomas Ruggles Pynchon will become the ninth president of Trinity College in Hartford, Conn, where he teaches science and religion. In 1881 he publishes an Introduction to Chemical Physics. His brother William is the great-grandfather of author Thomas Pynchon.
Of course with his high caste Aryan and New England good family upbringing and his stint in the Navy and at Boeing and his impeccable hippie counter cultural credentials and bona fides Thomas Pynchon has the classic profile of an MK Ultra Plant. In Bleeding Edge he speaks of a building that can have neither depth nor secrets as it is all front (ie, hiding in plain sight.).
While on a tour of the White Mountains, Hawthorne died in his sleep on May 19, 1864, in Plymouth, New Hampshire. Pierce sent a telegram to Elizabeth Peabody asking her to inform Mrs. Hawthorne in person. Mrs. Hawthorne was too saddened by the news to handle the funeral arrangements herself. Hawthorne’s son Julian, a freshman at Harvard College, learned of his father’s death the next day; coincidentally, he was initiated into the Delta Kappa Epsilon fraternity on the same day by being blindfolded and placed in a coffin. Longfellow wrote a tribute poem to Hawthorne published in 1866 called The Bells of Lynn. Hawthorne was buried on what is now known as Authors Ridge in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord, Massachusetts. Pallbearers included Longfellow, Emerson, Alcott, Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. James T. Fields , and Edwin Percy Whipple. Emerson wrote of the funeral: I thought there was a tragic element in the event, that might be more fully rendered—in the painful solitude of the man, which, I suppose, could no longer be endured, he died of it.
Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote a short story called Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment.
Ashkenazi is the name of the infamous Ostjuden. That the word has the words ash and Nazi in it has a chance of being coincidental which is not north of zero. That is if it is a fluke I will not only eat my hat, but their tiny ones as well. That it means something has long been known, what it means has always been the question. But now you know. We are one man learning and memory is nearly full.
Ken: one’s range of knowledge or sight.
Sh / it. Be silent about it.
Tristero: tryst. Rendezvous with density.
It loves to happen; and all is true.
