CHAPTER
3: MY FRIEND F.
Great, as I call him, because so he
called himself.
Other
adjectives he used were (but were not limited to): superior, distinguished, grand, and immaculate.
Immaculate being the adjective there
that was the most woefully misused.
There meaning in the list of
other adjectives the man used to describe himself, the list that is herewith
truncated for the sake of time.
I
will come back to the small room with the table and the chair. There is also a bedroll, but it almost
hardly worth mentioning.
Well,
by come back to I mean that I am sure
that I will further mention the small room with the table and the chair at some
later point in my scribbling.
For
the sake, however, of mentioning, I will mention that the small room also
contains a bedroll.
The
Great Man used his adjectives to describe specifically, he said, the things
that he was and that I would never be, he said. Which is why immaculate is funny:
I
am.
Immaculate,
I mean. He could never be. And with that type of glaringly obvious
vocabulary mistake, could he, in all honestly, be said to be superior?
Superior is one of those words, like new and like late, that depend upon something else, much as new depends upon old or used, to actually obtain its full understood
meaning.
I
do not approve, by the way, of the use of rhetorical questions as a furtherance
of the communication herewith offered.
Understood, by the way, does not
actually mean that one (see previous note) stands under something. Under, in this case, actually meaning between.
So
its full understood meaning is
actually something’s full betweenstood
meaning. Which is also not as
clear as one (see previous) might hope or imagine. It to be, I mean.
The
bedroll, if one (see previous) must know, is currently in its place in the
Northwest corner, forty-three and a half inches away from the corner of the
table that is closest to the Northwest corner. One (again, see previous) would not be incorrect in
presuming that if one corner of the table is closest to the Northwest corner of
the room then the opposite corner of the table is closest to the Southeast
corner of the room. One (ibid)
could leap to the presumption that the small room has four corners, each one of
them facing one of the traditional wind mid-points on the compass.
Ibid
for all the one’s to come, by the
way. Well, not all, as some of the one’s will most likely actually stand for the numeral, as in one, two, three. Even if some will
obviously stand in place of the third person singular pronoun used in the
present simple tense.
Conditionally, I mean. Used
conditionally, I mean. The use of
the gender neutral one as a third
person singular pronoun in the present simple tense will be conditional, I mean.
Well,
for conditional, read occasional.
One’s
presumptive leap would be a safe one.
Leap, that is.
A
safe leap.
If
one chose to make such a presumptive leap, that is, regarding the four corners
of the small room.
The
Northwest corner is the Bora corner, for instance.
Or
would be if my small room were a compass, or a wind-measuring station.
Of
which it is assuredly not either.
A compass, or a wind-measuring station, I mean.
The
Great Man, like the capital N Now, understood himself to exist worthy of
capitalizations. Hence, the G and
the M, when referring to him, by the way.
If
it is helpful, the bedroll is constructed out a material known as duck.
I
could not begin to guess why this might be helpful, or to whom this might be
helpful. To the same degree with
which I could not begin to guess, please disregard the note regarding the
material construction of the bedroll.
Disregarding
to the same degree would be easier, I understand, if the original degree in
question, that is, mine, regarding the usefulness of the information, or even,
as its basest quality, my guessing, were a known quantity.
I
said usefulness, but meant, as you
are not doubt aware, helpfulness.
Not
the same thing.
I
do not know how I came to know the word truncate.
The
Great Man would make up many words, before, when the right word would not come
to mind. I do not know what before designates here, nor am I clear
on what might be meant by right.
Words
are just words, after all. Unless,
or until, they accidentally become something else.
Some
of the words he would make up:
apindrop, bewheezered, slothrop, cocksure, Deuteronomy, fusner,
graxioms, erdedy, fuzzicals, phi, dollbounce, bast, apennape…it seems to be an
interminable list, now that I consider the sum of its total.
The
few words given here represent but a small portion of the list.
I
do now know that Deuteronomy is
probably not a Great-Man-made-up word, just as apparently cocksure is also not original. Nor phi, for that
matter.
I
do know that I believed erroneously that truncate
was pronounced with three syllables, thusly: tru*nk*ate.
I
do remember being confused as to what exactly (see above) it might be that true
inks ate. Most likely, at the time
that this confused me, I could not have, with any confidence, explained exactly
what an ink might be, or certainly what an ink might eat, and even more
certainly why apparently only some inks were deemed true.
Because
if some are true, some must, diametrically speaking, be false.
Apennape
was one of the names the Great Man would call me. As was apindrop.
Apennape, he would call, come here.
Or
some such.
Or,
Apindrop, if you do not want to get fusnered, bast it all, you’ll get over here
right now, he would explain. For
instance.
© 2012 – Mark A. Douglas
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