the path #1

"belief is what you have that has yet to receive a name";

the path according to phatic

More: phatic@diasp.eu

after nihilism, or The day Superman got something in his eye

It was a fine morning and Superman was out surveilling the eastern seaboard of his native land (not Krypton). Then he was called to the Mullah's office. When he (Supermn) arrived it was already past noon. Gathered in the Holy Sanctimony of Mullah the Supreme Knower of All Things Earthly and Divine, was not only the Mullah and his self, but also his secretary, his secretary\s secretary, and his secretary's sectretary's undersecretary. It was a meeting that would be thoroughly documented.


The Mullah opened by asking what Superman believed in.

"Believe in?" Supe said.

"Are you a man of the Church?" the Mullah continued.

"Well, I digest as much of the commonly circulated scripture as any man, so..."

"Don't go on, Supe," the Mullah interrupted. "Let's test your powers of deduction. What if..." and here the Mullah raised his one eyebrow slightly, which made him seem the more cleverer, "what if tomorrow the scripture would be abandoned for some reason or other, say we'd no longer perceive it the same way due to some event or such, what it the whole scaffolding that supported your everyday life was torn down..."

"Yes, yes..." Supe retorted impatiently.

"If some such event happened, who would then supply your values?"

"Would that not be Supe his self," squeeked the lowest of the Mullah's undersecretaries.

"Shut up, you fool," said the Mullah's secretary. "Take notes, that's what you're paid for, and let Supe do the thinking with his Over-brain."

"Well, it certainly couldn't be _I_, as _I_ wuz made by the scripture that you so thoroughly refuted," Supe said.

"That's very true," the Mullah said, waiting for the punch line to thishere tail.

"So if _I_ didn't make my values, and they're not originated in Scripture, then who made them?"

phatic (phatic@diasp.eu) is migrating his micro blogging to http://www.diaspora.org/ Be advised of the phatic files (http://phatic.blogspot.com/) -- ongiong updates on things #phatic

phatic unburdens hisself

As phatic's 14th birthday was coming up (September this year), B Suit -- acknowledging his young friend's suboptimal mood -- he (Suit) sat him (phatic) down at the Limit Bar & Grill, 255 Florida Ave., Fla, The United States of America.

"What seems to be on your mind, my friend. You seem dejected and emasculative."

"Well," said phatic, "I know it's soon phatic's [he would at time refer to hisself in the third person singular or plural (or both)] birthday, and all..."

"Yes," Suit's interjected, "yous were born 14 yers ago, with the inception of the Canon Factory (later closed), and at the mercy of the powers that may be (or not) emigrated through the desert of Nile (in supplement to the high seas) to the blogosphere..."

"In deed," phatic continued, "you speak the truth, parrhesiastically, nd for that you should be referenced."

Suit sipped his spirits.

"However, you encuired aboud the cause and conditions of our dejection?"

"That is correct."

"The fact [although there really are no bare facts] is that is has to do with my father and father."

"Yes?" B Suit raised his eyebrows.

"Their not on speaking tearms."

"THey're arguing."

"Not strictly speaking," phatic said. "As they don't converse an argument is constitutively excluded."

"Very true," Suit said, somewhat on the thither side of his assigned rôle in thishere story.

"...which raises a Lacanian problematic," phatic concluded.

"Don't conclude just yet," Suit introjected meta-phiolosphically. "Which side of Lacan refers to you?"

"Is phatic [here he was referring to hisself again] exposed to a split in the Big Other ... or not? In ther words, or lack of such, is there an expression of desire or just Bad Mood?"

The friends fell silent briefly. The Suit finished his drink, got up and said,

"You should maximin their mood, I suppose. Let's go to the Bank. I've got a deposit to make."

And with that the two interlocutors left the Limit Bar & Grill.

A. Woodland (fiancé)
Fla
On behalf of the phatic editorium

Up to the Limit

One afternoon B Suit and his fiancée, the lovely A Woodland, decided to go for a relaxing evening at the local club, the Limit. What they didn't know -- could not in fact have known, as it was a last minute alter(n)ation -- was that playing this very evening was famed Teutonic outfit Accept, featuring leather clad falsetto vocalist Uuuuuu-do DirkSCNEIDER.

As B Suit and A Woodland settled with their Cuba Librés, Accept took to the stage, the modest -- but highly VOCAL -- crowd greeting them, cheering UUUUUU-Do, UUUUU-Do, etc.

Herr DirkSCNEIDER pierced the room with the following _liedl_:

Do me a favour and leave me alone
The most I love you is when you're gone
Please, disappear and don't come back
I'm not the kind of guy you can check
All I can say -- out of my way
Before I get to the top
All I can feel is wild running blood
Please stop -- you better watch it
It's getting up to the limit
Up to the limit, etc.

with appropriate Teuton accent.

B Suit and A Woodland agreed they'd had a fine evening at the Limit.

"Fortunately there was no POLITICAL commentary," Suit remarked as they returned _zu ghause_.

From Fla to the End of the World

One morning at B Suit's home, Florida Rd, Fla, Suit's fiancée, the lovely A Woodland, makes a peculiar request.

"I want you to go to the World's End for me," she sais.

"The World's End?" Suit asks, requring a confirmation [validation to some].

"In deed," A Woodland responds.

The following week B Suit had the mayor of World's End, N d Cusa, take his picture in front of the TOwn Hall, sporting a large sign with the inscription WORLD'S END.

"Now you've reached the World's End, and here's a picture to prove it," N d Cusa said, handing the cell phone (with a camera) back to Suit, who -- without further ado -- stored the image on his hard drive.

On his return to Florida Rd, Fla, Suit shows the photograph (or pix, as they says in Fla), to his fiancée, the lovely A woodland.

"Here, now you see. I went to the World's End, on your request," Suit sais with not a small measure of hurt pride in his voice.

A Woodhouse considers her options for a moment, before answering,

"Well, you didn't have to take it that _literally_."

phatic
here, there & everywhere

Note from Artist

Cornelis Vreeswijk, "Perry, my mate, at the Welfare Council"

"Howzit, assistant, you see,
It's the same story as yesterday.
I need some dough for a sandwich and a pint,
If you'd give me a buck I give my best
To the welfare council, and promise and abate
Not to spend it on vodka," said Perry, my mate.

"Nope," said the assistant, harsh and with zest,
"Not a dime will get out of these coffers,
It won't help with prayers or complaints,
A nickel for the subway and two food stamps is what you'll get.
And if you get here tomorrow, arrive in sober state,
Why don't you kiss my ass," said Perry, my mate.

I met Perry by the subway station,
And when he'd explained his situation
We rode into town on the southern track
And finally arrived at "The Gilded Solemnity"
But when we'd sat there for a while
The assistant who snubbed Perry arrive.

"Howzit, assistant! You're most welcome here,"
Said Perry, smelling conspicuously of booze.
"Yuck," the assistant said moderately,
"Imagine eyeing Perry in this den of sin.
Who would have thought this was within your rate?"
"Why don't you give a damn," said Perry, my mate.

"Last time we met," Perry said, "I was anti-social,
But now I'm at home in the house of Solemnity.
Here we're equals, you know,
Red and blue, bony and corpulent.
If you can keep your word, you're a man who can swim,,
And if you can't, then talk to him."

And when Perry said "him", he pointed
generously at yours truly.

Perry and the assistant and I, that makes three
were drinking at my expense, fellow man,
That's how things work within society
If someone is unable, some one else pays
"It doesn't matter who's got a clean slate --
But cheers to capital!" said Perry, my mate.

Translated by Artist