The Piecemeal Man (abmann) wrote,
The Piecemeal Man

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Slovering Harpsicord

You should all read Red Meat.

The reason I say this is because I hate titles and Max Cannon in his boundless wisdom, or is it hardwired arbitrary...ness..., has eschewed the neccesity of titles.

This is misleading. His creations, rarely having a titualar moment (that I use tis word is further evidence I'm better than you), offer the perfect reason to experiment in bazaar word play - that is creating titles as if shoping in a bazaar (assume your culture is as it is now). There precious words shimmer without having directly apparent value until you place them together - and you get a hooka (do ya see where I'm going with this?).

I dislike titles. I may even disdain, deplore, deprecate and generally disapporve of them. They are the alluring "come-hither-stare" of wordsmithing. However, it is the sort of smithing that the smith him/herself must outsource. It is not, in fact, of the same genus as traditional writing. If they don't, by the time a piece is complete the smith has run out of raw material. Titles from scrap? It isn't often that one can create exquisite titles from an abundance of prepositions and poorly conjugated future perfect tenses, which only thecoweyed understand and the rest of you are lying to yourselves (that's why the boat up and died).

When you outsource, the smith can replish his stock and edit a piece in time for.. what ever deadlines that exist. No wasted time agonizing on titles. None. Max Cannon is an unrecognized saint whom we all shall worship. He builds the title of words common to a work. There is no double entendre, no summary in a couplet, no standard waving in the eyes of the reader! No one can say, "where are the larvae, Max? Where are the fucking larvae??" without feeling the fool.

Subsequently, I shall experiment with this "unrelated titling" construct, for I am incapable of titles that makes sense enough for me to enjoy them. One title in hundreds pleases me: "Infornography". 1 out of hundreds. Do you comprehend this? It is not my failure. It is the English language's fault for being insufficient to harbor my genius. Is it my fault that I thrust myself into the language and it cannot take my girth?

Damn you, English,
for you have no stamina!


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