The Tyrannical, The Flat, The Simple, The What--

There is a certain mode of communication--speech, uttered or written--you can see it in the Reverend Gwyon, in the Consul Firmin, in Wyatt (or Stefan, or otherwise Unnameable--)--

(in some transcribed memory bank, tattered old abandoned site, when there were one or two, who spoke eclectic--)

--a lively mode, highly literary, bordering on the mystical, or perhaps just obscure, but desired just the same, whether esoteric or plainly erratic--

(such a mode to shame the rest, the sort, what was it, stenographic speech, the daily-everyday-mundane-bleak, all of it just a dull tyranny shouting down those elusive bits, the rare creatures skirting in, out, ever dimming with lostness, elusive--)

--which is the wanted type, because it excites, it begs interpretation, and--this being key--the interpretations are in the vein of literary interpretation, symbols cryptic, some of that precious-because-rare mystery, and, like--

(and had we met it, maybe once, twice, then dodged down, took-off-and-gone, lingering only as memory-residual, lost spark, and so then, so now, pressed out, eliminated, overcome--yes, by this, the everyday, the stenographic--)

--and to see it in this wayward slope of the three or so 'Key Authors,' yes and giving thanks, that they are there, that this exists, for you to read, but likewise, same-time, the recurrence [eternal] of a note of bitterness, to recall that you had broached it once, twice, not on the page, not in story, but hereabouts, in this, this Real Life, ah, you knew it, once-twice-what?--so we think, right, to dimly recall, those sites--

Otherwise awash in, again, this, the stenographic, the uninspired, surrounding--

Fronts with no backs to them, exo- vaunting victorious over eso-, gloom-dyed Normal, repressive Apparent, threatened now, these days, only by these texts, these tales, from that fiery resilient so-rare slope, that three-pointed semi-straight segment, our link, via Lowry-Gaddis-Pynchon, in defiance of the, ahem, Real, so they, they are there--

But is it enough, one wonders, somber-shaded desperate wonder, of those three, alighting the only apparent alternative, to, what, all this--

Ending in sigh, in Ehhh..., 'midst this, this so-much, the stenographic....