the angels wanna wear my red shoes

marrows cruel mock

And I’ve posted this here there and everywhere so very many times, but I don’t fucking care right now.

***

This is probably my very favourite passage from Hoban ever, bar none. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve typed it out by now.

***

Barrow full of rocks? said the yellow paper.

That’s just my name for it, said Word. A pneumatic.

Mnemonic, said the yellow paper.

Whatever you like, said Word. The line itself is by Pilkins.

Milton? said the yellow paper.

Something like that, said Word. ‘Hidden soul of harmony’ is what he said. I like that. It sings. ‘Untwisting all the chains that ty /The hidden soul of harmony.’ That’s nice. I’ll think of it again some time.

Do you mean to tell me, said the yellow paper, that ‘Barrow full of rocks’ is nothing more than a mnemonic for “Hidden soul of harmony’?

Precisely, said Word.

That’s outrageous, said the yellow paper. And on top of that they’re nothing like each other.

Of course not, said Word. If the mnemonic is the same as what it reminds you of why bother with it. I don’t even like them to be too close. If you have a nice thing to think about you don’t want to keep it out in plain view all the time, you know, with the virtue getting rubbed off it. Keep it in the dark is what I say.

The whole thing’s quite beyond me, said the yellow paper.

Of course it is, said Word. Beyond me too, and roundabout as well.

But your wretched barrow full of rocks has got into human minds, said the yellow paper. Your miserable mnemonic, not even the thing it refers to. For a flash through your mind, for an odd tune come and gone like lightning, men suffer and die riddling where there is no riddle, digging where there is no treasure.

Why not, said Word. That’s what men are for.

— Kleinzeit

(Source: theredshoes)