arcane, Burlesque, Celebrity Writer, Dissident Writer, Fiction, Hegemony, hermeneutic, Illuminati, Literary theorist, literature, Military Dictator, Nobel Prize for literature, Post Modern, Post Modern Fiction, Queerism, renaissance, semiology, Shamanic, Short Story, Tarot
To decide the Nobel Prize for Literature, the group of judges were handpicked due to their vehement expertise and vulnerable contacts in and around the globe as a theater. They were listed as follows: —–Cerebrated Literary Theorist —– Celebrity Writer —– Oriental Scholar —– VIP politician with PHD in Literature —– Queer Think Tank —– Dissident Writer —– Military Dictator for his taste in Literature ——Retired Circus Buffoon ——Illuminati on Poetics
The panel of judges could not unanimously decide which country/continent the Nobel Prize for literature is to be given. The circus buffoon made a loud guffaw and jerked into a full throated exclamation. He said: “Let’s do the Russian roulette. Let’s ask the celebrity writer to place her sensitive diacritical feminine fingers and use her well acquainted nails to push the globe gently, and use her Gothic impressionistic nails as wisdom, with her eyes closed, melodiously as the globe comes to tender stop like Schumacher’s racing pet.” Ms. celebrity writer said: “Oh my goodness! How can I do that? I will spoil my nails. They have acres of vanish, very eloquent Paris shoe polish.” The military dictator got up and said: “No let her not do it; my Beretta is loaded. I will shoot it right on target as the globe slows down. Swing you clown, swing the globe. After this panel is over, you can look after my prized collection of black panthers kept as my pets.”
The politician with PHD in Literature had certain other peculiar characteristics like one finger less, a huge scar running all the way from the jaw to the temple and bald patches on his head resembling the map of England. He got up and intoned in the lexical parliamentary style: “How outrageous and scandalous? What if the military dictator shoots into the oceans? “Here let me pick a safe haven of land with hiding secrets; let me do it. Here I know.” He smiles in a sly manner.” I know a writer of some sorts. Here let me award it to him. He says: “He writes some sort of absurd symbolism of post-modern genres. Let’s award him a prize for goodness sake. You could voice some interest about the scope of business too. Think about the publicity it will generate and the percentages too.
The dissident got up and remarked:” What, how terrible! The mortals of humanity, the radical anarchists of today—- the ones who are writing for the would be democracies all over the world. Dissidents are the wounded soldiers of humanity. The prize should not be filtered away. It should be given honor and representation to a writer whose country, where every cognition is interpreted externally as the voice of the repressed. Dissidents are political prisoners and the literature beyond the asylum is a gulag which needs your royal patronage.
The queer think tank got up and started circling his hands in a very puzzling but symbolic conundrum much to the consternation of the panel. He said: ” Queerism is going through the nascence of a cult. Why even today it is negated to the periphery of marginal literature. The evolution of Queerism to the main street acceptance and the schisms of imagistic renaissance with its apocrypha have plenty of talent. Circulate the globe—-if by any chance or mishap if it falls in an anti-queer country award a prize, if there is to any of the samizdat queer texts there.
Illuminati on poetics got up and cautioned:” I am ashamed and puzzled by your mediocre and burlesque quest for the survival of anything remote to World Literature. I am no proponent of poetics and for that matter I am hardly able to read anything of prose either. I propose to give the Nobel Prize for Literature to a work I read called the Death of the Language. It has a few blank pages and then a chapter called Confusion where the writer says the experiment is to make the letters the smallest so that they will be hardly legible to read. Then there are two pages blank and a page embossed in medieval manuscript form titled: Order beyond Hegemony and Anarchy. All the letters of the language are arrayed like stars of a galaxy. Then there’s a chapter called Renaissance within the association of Metaphors. Two images that are shown are weeds growing out of tongues and eyes growing out of brains. Within the periphery called the End of the Book there’s a title written hieroglyphic translated into English as the Organic Museum. Here nudes are erotically described through various phases of expressionism. There’s also an advertisement logo of curative organic food with aphrodisiac intensity for sale. The last page ends with the denouement called synthesis of fiction. Here a miniature doll, a shamanic one from Africa also called Myth and Magic an esoteric hermeneutic one, hangs on a branch in contemplation. As soon as the reader touches the page, an audio enabled script proclaims hysterically: I killed the Tarot. This poly-magical-poetic-mythical-post-post-modern work has the universe within it in every conceivable form. It is a simulated chorus of many texts. It is a book which will displace bewilder the semiology of the arcane world of the trans-generic where the sect, order and the worshipers, secretly assume and proliferate the world into every imaginable fictions of recognition. In the World of decadence it becomes a Xanthippe of fiction.
The Oriental Scholar made a gesture of abject condescension, quite mystical as that of a thaumaturge and said humbly with apologies of great reverence:” In this Aquarian age, the body as consciousness within the realms of the mind is hyperbolic spirituality, and its epiphany is manifested as Metaphors of the Sign in the unity of Content. The cult of the revival and the charismatic has many versatile polymath writers who sad to say write, but hardly reveal what they write. They keep it a secret not to be handed down to the generations. However I feel Schmidt Lewinsky Gardner’s work, as Oriental-ism within the West and Ms. Spivak Chandra Sullivan’s Occidental-ism as the East are possible inclusions for the Nobel Prize.
The cerebrated Literary Theorist jumped up like a pole vault and shouted;” You hardly read the great theories of language called meanings of representation within every symbol. Infinity like Shakespeare is blind Homer within every representation. The blind eyes of Homer deceive speech and substitute as every intention. Today the Babel-cipher-cyber can generate every combination of literature, and it has the possibility to evolve and make everything called Literature. It can adulterate the soul of the language and the freedom of human expression and make all literature a simulation. I feel the Nobel Prize should go to the machine.
As the committee started quarreling and disagreeing on everything, the military dictator pointed his Beretta and said “Order Order or I fire since all Literature is the semblance for imagination and mere creation there’s no universal literature called World within Humanity and Humanity within every Experience, therefore we can shortlist none for the Nobel Prize.
The circus buffoon laughed so loudly that all eyes were cast on him. The military dictator took aim with his Beretta with the muzzle closing in; The last words of the circus buffoon were: ” Please let this year’s prize be given to the circus of readers.” His last words before being martyred were: ” This ceases to be a writer’s prize as none except you have read it.