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“ ‘That is perfectly true,’ the president admitted, ‘but their work is also more difficult than ever before. Criminals who operate in the grand manner have all sorts of things at their disposal nowadays. Science has done much for modern progress, but unfortunately it can be of invaluable assistance to criminals as well; the hosts of evil have the telegraph and the motorcar at their disposal just as authority has, and some day they will make use of the airplane.’ ”
(Marcel Allain & Pierre Souvestre, Fantômas, trans. unknown, p. 3.)
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“ ‘ “A man should be fixed,” the chairman said. “The board felt that a certain firmness was lacking—”
‘ “That one ought to know his necessity and bow down to it?”
‘ “Yes,” the chairman said, “that’s it.”
‘ “One is what one is?”
‘ “Properly so,” the chairman said, “yes.”
‘ “No,” the young man said. “What you call character is the mere obstinacy of the self, the sinister will’s solipsist I am. One adjusts his humanity to the humanity of others. Not I am, but You are— there’s the necessity. Love cooperates; it plays ball. I hate a chaos. Does the company need me?” ’ ”
(Stanley Elkin, A Bad Man, p. 171–2.)
(B. S. Johnson’s film Fat Man on a Beach, from 1973, in five parts. Via Lee Rourke’s Scarecrow Comment.)
“And so it all ended. Artha kama dharma moksa. Ask Kavya for the kay. And so everybody heard their plaint and all listened to their plause. The letter! The litter! And the soother the bitther! Of eyebrow pencilled, by lipstipple penned. Borrowing a word and begging the question and stealing tinder and slipping like soap. From dark Rasa Lane a sigh and a weep, from Lesbia Looshe the beam in her eye, from lone Coogan Barry his arrow of song, from Sean Kelly’s anagrim a blush at the name, from I am the Sullivan that trumpeting tramp, from Suffering Dufferin the Sit of her Style, from Kathleen May Vernon her Mebbe fair efforts, from Fillthepot Curran his scotchlove machreether, from hymn Op. 2 Phil Adolphos the weary O, the leery, O, from Samyouwill Leaver or Damyouwell Lover thatjolly old molly bit or that bored saunter by, from Timm Finn again’s weak tribes, loss of strenghth to his sowheel, from the wedding on the greene, agirlies, the gretnass of joyboys, from Pat Mullen, Tom Mallon, Dan Meldon, Don Maldon a slickstick picnic made in Moate by Muldoons. The solid man saved by his sillied woman. Crackajolking away like a hearse on fire. The elm that whimpers at the top told the stone that moans when stricken. Wind broke it. Wave bore it. Reed wrote of it. Syce ran with it. Hand tore it and wild went war. Hen trieved it and plight pledged peace. It was folded with cunning, sealed with crime, uptied by a harlot, undone by a child. It was life but was it fair? It was free but was it art? The old hunks on the hill read it to perlection. It made ma make merry and sissy so shy and rubbed some shine off Shem and put some shame into Shaun. Yet Una and Ita spill famine with drought and Agrippa, the propastored, spells tripulations in his threne. Ah, furchte fruchte, timid Danaides! Ena milo melomon, frai is frau and swee is too, swee is two when swoo is free, ana mala woe is we! A pair of sycopanties with amygdaleine eyes, one old obster lumpky pumpkin and three meddlars on their slies. And that was how framm Sin fromm Son, acity arose, finfin funfun, a sitting arrows. Now tell me, tell me, tell me then!”
(Joyce, Finnegans Wake, pp. 93–4.)
(Han van Meegeren’s Christ and the Adultress with soldiers at the end of WWII, from Errol Morris’s series on van Meegeren & forgery.)
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