No 3649 Set by George Cowley
We asked for Lewis Carroll philosophy.
Report by Ms de Meaner
No space. £15 to the winners. The vouchers go to Connie Yapp.
The Jabberwocky theory
Considered in the light
Of subpostmentopography
Explains the Adamite.
To sweep away the shifting sand
Between the ichnite toes
Uncovers many a fossent strand
Connecting these to those.
Walrussian alternatives
Show optimism while
Accepting the imperative
Existence of a smile.
If you can count to twenty-nine
And backwards spell your name
When standing on a thin red line
You've understood life's game.
Alanna Blake
The Mock Turtle went on: "We have the best of Foolosophy here . . . Meltingphysics, Fuzzymology and, of course, Codology, which I consider the fishiest of them all. And then there are the different branches - or twiggies - of Venemology, Eggstainsalism, Relatives-hiss-'em and Asteriskeolism. I presume you've heard mention of the cart?"
Alice thought hard and then ventured, doubtfully: "Was he the one who said, 'I think, therefore I'm in a jam'?"
The Gryphon waved his paws in frustration. "No, no. That was his filly Rene - whatever you do, don't let her come in before the cart!"
Alice was feeling rather giddy. "I'm confused by all this," she said. "I've never heard of Meltingfizzysticks or even Fussymology. But I know Codology is also known as Afternoon-Teaology, and Extensionalism is all about us."
The Mock Turtle and the Gryphon were amused. "Well, if you've never heard of the roots and saps of Foolosophy, what is there left to say? It's the basis of all anti-logical thought. We're discussing the nature of Ing. Let's start with Rashalism. That says you can't just do what you think, otherwise your skin will erupt in red patches. Which shows one should never take anything at face value. Then there's Illogical-Positivism, which is all about stubbing your toe against a stone. Have you heard of Isms?"
"Yes," replied Alice. "It means not having a clue what's going on around you."
The Gryphon was disappointed. "You've reached the absolute Plato of Onandonandontology!" he exclaimed knowingly.
John O'Byrne
A small creature was sitting on the top of a streamlined pillar box. He was dressed in a leotard and Levi-Strauss jeans, muttering long, impressive words.
"Who's that?" Alice asked.
"Shh!" said the Cheshire Cat, "that's the Post Modernist. Don't interrupt him. He'll only want to tell you about the death of the author."
"Not dear Dr Dodgson!" cried Alice.
"No, the old Dodo isn't extinct yet. When the Post Modernist says 'the death of the author', he only means the author is unimportant."
"How odd!" said Alice. "Without the author, you and I wouldn't be here . . . and neither would he!"
"You and I know that, but I don't think he does."
"Well, I suppose he thinks I'm important," said Alice. "After all, I am the main character and the main listener."
"No, not you either."
"Well, who then?" asked Alice, puzzled.
"He thinks the reader is most important. But that's because reading is the one thing he can do," explained the Cat.
"I don't think I'd like to meet him," said Alice, who disliked self-important people.
"Clever child!" said the Cat, and they tiptoed away.
Ron Heard
"What do you do?" asked Alice politely.
"I don't do anything," replied the man. "I'm a Philosopher. I think."
"Don't you know?" asked Alice.
"I know I think, of course," he replied. "At least, I think I do. But I don't think I know I do, because then I'd be knowing, not thinking."
"So tell me what you think about," said Alice, eagerly.
"Oh, the purpose of life," said the Philosopher loftily.
"What's that?" asked Alice, uncertainly.
"It depends," he replied, "on whether life's like a banana or a question."
"I don't think it's like a banana," said Alice cautiously, "but . . . "
"Exactly!" he cried. "If it's like a banana, it has no purpose. But if it's like a question, its purpose is to find an answer."
"And what is the answer?" asked Alice.
"Ah, that's the question," the Philosopher replied, suddenly downcast.
Alice felt sorry for him. "Don't you mind not knowing things?" she asked.
"Never!" he answered. "I'm very philosophical."
W J Webster
'Twas Kantish and the burbling ooze
Pursued pure reason at leak pace,
But failed to fill the master's shoes,
Chagrin and egg-yolk on its face:
Beware male vertebrates, my gel,
Their ids and egos drenched in lust,
Mammalian spinners on the make,
Trying to edge pork pies in fust.
Young moving phalli have no brains,
Or consequence ex natura rerum,
Will leave behind those awful stains,
Passed off as primordial serum.
Through wastelands where old eliots
jigger,
In existential sonneschine,
Dare you waltz with Mart Heidegger,
Or tango home with Wittgenstein?
Connie Yapp
No 3652 Set by George Cowley
Will Self (NS, 25 September) writes of an "exceptional sub-genre" of biography - dealing with "the out-and-out failure". We want extracts which attempt to rehabilitate "him". Max 200 words by 26 October.
E-mail: comp@newstatesman.co.uk
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