not to believe in earthquakes, for instance

Mrs. Manford's motto had always been: "There's a timefor everything." But there were moments when this optimistic view failed her, and she began to think there wasn't.This morning, for instance, as Miss Bruss pointed out, shehad had to tell the new French sculptor who had been all the

The manicure is there now, late as usual. That's whatmartyrizes your mother; everybody's being so unpunctual.This New York life is killing her.

"But look at her list-just for this morning!" the secretarycontinued, handing over a tall morocco-framed tablet, onwhich was inscribed, in the colourless secretarial hand: "7.30Mental uplift. 7.45 Breakfast. 8. Psycho-analysis. 8. 1 ~ Seecook. 8.30 Silent Meditation. 8.4~ Facial massage. 9. Man with

Mrs. Manford declared,in that bright efficient voice which made loveliness andpoe tr y sound like the attributes of an advanced in ....ustrialism, and babies something to be turned out in series likeFo rds.

but Lita had sunk into a state of smilinganimal patience, as if the mysterious work going on in her tender young body h ad a sacred significance for her, and it wasenough to lie still and let it happen. All she asked was that nothing should "hurt" her: she had the blind dread of physical paincommon also to most of the young women of her set. But allthat was so easily managed nowadays: Mrs. Manford (who tookcharge of the business, Lita being an orphan) of course knewthe most perfect "Twilight Sleep" establishment in the country, installed Lita in its most luxu rious sui te , and filled h errooms with spring flowers, hot-house fruits, n ew novels andalJ the latest picture-papers- and Lita drifted into motherhood as lightly and unperceivingly as if the wax doll which suddenly appeared in the cradle at her bedside had been broughtthere in one of the big bunches of hot-house roses that shefound every morning on her pillow.

between his wife and his half-sister, and tried to make the latter feel that his house was another home to her.

which drooped from her wrists as if listlessly waiting to bekissed, or lay like rare shells or upcurved magnolia-petals onthe cushions luxuriously piled about her indolent body

them

h."

modesty is a variable, verymuch like beauty. It changes with modernity and is altered by geography

Thank God.

Identical With infinite Maternity

The was—is—ever—shall—be Of cosmic reproductivity

Warmth           moisture Stir of incipient life Precipitating into me

unit

Comes from so far away And the foam on the stretched muscles of a mouth Is no part of myself There is a climax in sensibility When pain surpassing itself Becomes exotic And the ego succeeds in unifying the positive and negative  poles of sensation Uniting the opposing and resisting forces In lascivious revelation

He is running upstairs I am climbing a distorted mountain of agony

Against virgins who Might scratch.

Throbs to the night

Fleshes like weeds Sprout in the light So much flesh in the world Wanders at will

Somebody who was never a virgin

" Transparent nightdresses made all of lace" Virgins may squeak " My dear I should faint" Flutter . . . . . flutter . . . . flutter . . . . . . . . " And then the man — " Wasting our giggles For we have no dots

A great deal of ourselves We offer to the mirror Something less to the confessional

Men's eyes look into things Our eyes look out

" Plumb streets with hearts" " Bore curtains with eyes"

Latin Borghese

Having surprised a gesture that is ultimately intimate

To a flicker of elements unconditionally primeval And now averted Seek each other's      surreptitiously To know if the other has seen

cocotte

All the virgin eyes in the world are made of glass

Nostalgic youth

Prophetically blossoms in perfect putrefaction

tapers

kohl

Indifferent to cerebral gymnastics Or regarding them as the self-indulgent play of children Or the thunder of alien gods

pugilist of the intellect

indisputable

Though you have never possessed me I have belonged to you since the beginning of time

TO arrive at respect for man as he shall be—

will clear—

THESE are the primary tentatives towards independence.

elements of Life—Whole.

TODAY is the crisis in consciousness.

loose and the smallest idea conceived in freedom will suffice

MAY your egotism be so gigantic that you comprise mankind

BUT the smallest person, potentially, is as great as the

variability

I suggest that Prior exemplifies a gnostic interpretive position toward the law. As Garet has argued, the interpretive feat characteristic of gnosticism is a revisionist approach to creation stories in order "to privilege radical proposals and to relativize the claims of the orthodox."26 Typically, the "radical proposal" is a "retelling" of the creation story, of man's beginnings (Garet, 102). Substantively, Garet's uncapitalized "gnosticism" is "an account of redemption as a final overthrow of the limits inherent in the creaturely state" (102)

s. In Kushner's America, secular law is a kind of religion, in much the same way scriptural law was religion in the world of Old Testament Judaism. Numerous legal scholars have theorized constitutional law as a kind of civil religion for America.'" Kushner renders this same concept theatrical

aw. Through such a doubly endowed figure, Kushner makes the point that the successor-i.e., the current-regime, has features in common with the one it succeeded: the new, like the old, has run its course, has been corrupted, is also at its end.

Cohn, then, is simultaneously Satanic and Christlike. He is Satanic in so far as he appears like a fallen prophet at the end of the world. He is, however, structurally similar to Christ in that he brings a new, or successor, law that is supposed to supplant a former law. But Cohn-as-Christ is as corrupted as the old law that the scriptural Christ was sent to destroy, and so Cohn too must be de

Cohn's corporealization of the law reverberates in his own life and de

, ever subjecting himself to the law, Cohn ceaselessly works to change it. In other words, indeterminacy for him is the governing principle, rather than the unavoidable consequence, of human lawmaking. Indetermi- nate, alterable rules are the staple of his existence.

n response, it has been argued that law is not as hermeneutically determinate as has been commonly supposed, but instead has determinacy superimposed on it for necessary political ends.' Relying, moreover, on Robert Crosman's assertion that something that might be regarded as a single correct meaning is "negotiated" by collections of individual readers' interpretations, one might also argue that literature is itself less indeterminate than legal scholars suppose.10

Disease and putrefaction inevitably ensue.

In short, the stereotype may practice the law's fictions inside the courtroom, but does not live by them outside. Cohn, however, takes the law's fictions and loopholes outside the arena of the courtroom and lives his life by them.

s a nerve running through nearly every organ and extremity of the body of Tony Kushner's Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Theme

And is thine everlasting store.

And see the future time:

And want new worlds to buy.

 And if thou overcom’st, thou shalt be crowned.

And suspend the river’s fall.

Is heaven’s and its own perfume.

Many throughout history were unaware of this most basic fact. The Qu, in dreamsof an ideal future, distorted the worlds they came across. Later on the Gravital, with theirinsane desire to recreate the past, caused the ugliest massacres in the history of thegalaxy. Even now, it is sickeningly easy for beings to get lost in false grand narratives,living out completely driven lives in pursuit of non-existent codes, ideals, climaxes andgolden ages. In blindly thinking that their stories serve absolute ends, such creaturesalmost always end up harming themselves, if not those around them.

His taleserves to tell us that all that is alive will inevitably perish, and it is the journey, not theconclusion that matters.

Fathers that wear ragsDo make their children blind,But fathers that bear bagsShall see their children kind.Fortune, that arrant whore,Ne’er turns the key to th’ poor.

I am no flatterer.

O sir, to willful menThe injuries that they themselves procureMust be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors.He is attended with a desperate train,And what they may incense him to, being aptTo have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.

’Tis his own blame hath put himself from rest,And must needs taste his folly.

Or ere I’ll weep.—O Fool, I shall go mad!

you unnatural hags,

And let not women’s weapons, water drops,Stain my man’s cheeks.

Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear’st,Which scarcely keeps thee warm.

Man’s life is cheap as beast’s.

I entreat youTo bring but five-and-twenty. To no moreWill I give place or notice.

Thou art a boil,

At your choice, sir.

All’s not offense that indiscretion findsAnd dotage terms so

Thy half o’ th’ kingdom hast thou not forgot,Wherein I thee endowed

She have restrained the riots of your followers,’Tis on such ground and to such wholesome endAs clears her from all blame

You less know how to value her desertThan she to scant her duty.

Sepulch’ring an adult’ress

Twas her brother that in purekindness to his horse buttered his hay.

Noticing Kent again. Death onmy state! WhereforeShould he sit here? This act persuades me

“Fiery”? What “quality”?

But I will tarry; the Fool will stay,And let the wise man fly.The knave turns fool that runs away;The Fool no knave, perdie

Not i’ th’ stocks, fool.

Let go thy hold when a great wheelruns down a hill lest it break thy neck with following;but the great one that goes upward, let himdraw thee after.

I would have none butknaves follow it, since a Fool gives it

None.

Made you no more offense but what you speak of?

dolors

’Tis worse thanmurderTo do upon respect such violent outrage

By Jupiter, I swear no.By Juno, I swear ay.

When a man’soverlusty at legs

Ha, ha, he wears cruel garters. Horses are tiedby the heads, dogs and bears by th’ neck, monkeysby th’ loins, and men by th’ legs.

Poor Tom

Enforce their charity

My face I’ll grime with filth,Blanket my loins, elf all my hairs in knots,And with presented nakedness outface

Fortune, good night. Smile once more; turn thywheel.

The Duke’s to blame in this

the rest I’ll whistle.

’Tis the Duke’spleasure,Whose disposition all the world well knowsWill not be rubbed nor stopped.

Your purposed low correctionIs such as basest and contemned’st wretchesFor pilf’rings and most common trespassesAre punished with

if I were your father’s dog

Till noon? Till night, my lord, and all night, too

got praises of the King

dialect

On flick’ring Phoebus’ front

Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.

These kind of knaves I know, which in thisplainnessHarbor more craft and more corrupter ends

Why dost thou call him “knave”? What is his fault?His countenance likes me not.

Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou thusto rail on one that is neither known of thee norknows thee

A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; abase, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound,filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered,action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable,finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting

Natures of such deep trust

To make thee capable.

If they not thought the profits of my deathWere very pregnant and potential spursTo make thee seek it.

Thou unpossessing bastard

Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moonTo stand auspicious mistress.

Seem to defend

She that’s a maid now and laughs at my departure,Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cutshorter.

O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!Keep me in temper. I would not be mad

thy wit shall not goslipshod

kibes

You are much more at task for want of wisdomThan praised for harmful mildness

Take you some company and away to horse.Inform her full of my particular fear,And thereto add such reasons of your ownAs may compact it more.

A fox, when one has caught her,And such a daughter,Should sure to the slaughter,If my cap would buy a halter.So the Fool follows after

That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost thinkI have cast off forever.

clay

As dotage gives it

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it isTo have a thankless child

spleen

More hideous when thou show’st thee in a childThan the sea monster!

And the remainders that shall still depend

Who is it that can tell me who I am?Lear’s shadow.

May not an ass know when the cart draws thehorse?

hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo

Thou hast pared thy wit o’ both sidesand left nothing i’ th’ middle.

Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teachthy Fool to lie. I would fain learn to lie

I have used it, nuncle, e’er since thou mad’st thydaughters thy mothers. For when thou gav’st themthe rod and put’st down thine own breeches,

Dost thou call me “fool,” boy?All thy other titles thou hast given away. Thatthou wast born with.

Mark it, nuncle:Have more than thou showest.Speak less than thou knowest,Lend less than thou owest,Ride more than thou goest,Learn more than thou trowest,Set less than thou throwest

a dog

I have told you what I have seen and heard, butfaintly, nothing like the image and horror of it.

I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I readthis other day, what should follow these eclipses.

An admirableevasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatishdisposition on the charge of a star!

hese late eclipses in the sun and moonportend no good to us. Though the wisdom ofnature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature findsitself scourged by the sequent effects.

I dare pawn down my life for him that he hathwrit this to feel my affection to your Honor, and tono other pretense of danger.

O villain, villain! His very opinion in theletter. Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutishvillain! Worse than brutish!—Go, sirrah, seekhim. I’ll apprehend him.—Abominable villain!—Where is he?

It is his hand, my lord, but I hope his heart isnot in the contents

GLOUCESTER

Thecontents, as in part I understand them, are toblame.

I find it not fit foryour o’erlooking

“bastard”?

Thou, Nature, art my goddess. To thy lawMy services are bound.

EDMUND

this last surrender of his willbut offend us.

He always loved our sister most, and withwhat poor judgment he hath now cast her offappears too grossly.

Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides

with washed eyes

benison

Gods, gods! ’Tis strange that from their cold’stneglectMy love should kindle to enflamed respect.

Give but that portion which yourself proposed,

She is herself a dowry.

Commit a thing so monstrous to dismantleSo many folds of favor.

Than on a wretch whom Nature is ashamedAlmost t’ acknowledge hers.

And your large speechesmay your deeds approve

The true blank of thine eye

Thy safety being motive.

This coronet part between you.

Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.

digest

Or he that makes his generation messesTo gorge his appetite,

Scythian

Hecate

Half my love with him, half my care and duty.

that future strifeMay be prevented now

a son for her cradle ere she had a husbandfor her bed.

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beyond Hodgson's own fiction into nonfiction. Formlessness, so brilliantly abstracted and teratologized in Lovecraft, is here something that was done, by humans, and more terrible for that. There is no Weird so Weird as the backwashed bad sublime called Passchendaele.

Blackwood, A. (1973) “The Willows,” 1907 in E.F. Bleiler (ed.) Best Ghost Stories of Algernon Blackwood, New York: Dover. Derrida, J. (1994) Specters of Marx: the state of the debt, the work of mourning and the new international, ed. B. Magnus and S. Cullenberg, trans. P. Kamuf, New York and London: Routledge. Hodgson, W.H. (1919) “The Baumoff Explosive,” Nash's Magazine (20 September). Hodgson, W.H. (2002) The House on the Borderland, 1908, in The House on the Borderland and Other Novels, London: Gollancz. Hodgson, W.H. (2005) Wandering Soul, Hornsea, E. Yorks: PS Publishing/Tartarus Press. Houellebecq, M. (2005) H.P. Lovecraft: against the world, against life, 1999, trans. D. Khazeni, New York: Believer Books. Joshi, S.T. (1990) The Weird Tale, Holicong, PA: Wildside Press. Kant, I. (1991) Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and the Sublime, 1764, trans. J.T. Goldthwait, Berkeley: University of California Press. Lovecraft, H.P. (1973) Supernatural Horror in Literature, 1927, New York: Dover. Lovecraft, H.P. (1995) “Notes on Writing Weird Fiction,” 1937, in S.T. Joshi (ed.) Miscellaneous Writings, Sauk City, WI: Arkham House. Lovecraft, H.P. (1999) The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories, London: Penguin. Machen, A. (2004) “The Great God Pan,” 1894, in Tales of Horror and the Supernatural, Leyburn, Lancs.: Tartarus Press. Noys, B. (2007) “The Lovecraft Event,” paper presented at the Weird Realism: Lovecraft and theory Conference, Goldsmith College, London, April.

bad-numinous

the German protagonist is no evil Hun but a saintly man trying to tap into absolute goodness, who is entered instead by what Hodgson, in one of the absolutely key phrases in Weird Fiction, has his narrator suppose is “some Christ-apeing monster of the Void.” As no such entities have been mooted at any point up to or after this supposed “explanation,” the true horror of the story lies in the implication that there is no mummery involved, that it is the Christ itself that speaks with monstrous voice, that Godhead, in the midst of cataclysm, is malevolent. Here is the purest and most affecting humanist expression of Weird Fiction traditional awed horror (far from, say, Machen's reactionary ecstasy).

Hodgson provides a uniquely uncluttered insight into Weird Fiction as the literature of crisis

When Machen wants to deploy supernature in the national interest, he articulates neither the radical bad-numinous of Weird nor the returned repressed of Gothic, but, in classic fascist mode, warmed-over mythic kitsch.

and it is their very “rationality” that uncovers the radical and awesome monstrous.

trauma at the heart of the field.

post-Weird in more than just its dates. (A very few of the truly enormous number of relevant writers are Neil Gaiman, Caitlin Kiernan, Peter Straub, Stephen King, Poppy Z. Brite, Thomas Ligotti, Clive Barker, Katherine Dunn, Hal Duncan, Joyce Carol Oates, Robert Aickman, Grant Morrison, Ramsey Campbell, Michael Moorcock.)

the Weird is in opposition to that category for thinking through the history-stained present that, after Derrida (1994), has become known as the “Hauntological.” The Weird, rather, impregnates the present with a bleak, unthinkable novum.

their alterity is radical, rather than aghastly remembered. The awe that Weird Fiction attempts to invoke is a function of lack of recognition

revolutionary teratology

The story is explicit about its anti-narrative methodology, stressing that “all dread glimpses of truth” are “fleshed out from an accidental piecing together of separated things” (Lovecraft 1999: 140).

One can argue that the frenzied succession of adjectives in Lovecraft, alongside his regular insistence that whatever is being described is “undescribable,” is, in its hesitation, its obsessive qualification and stalling of the noun, an aesthetic deferral according to which the world is always-already unrepresentable, and can only be approached by an asymptotic succession of subjective pronouncements.

However, at its best Lovecraft's (and others') writing achieves affect because of, not despite, its prose, a crime against a certain au courant middlebrow minimalism, that will in passing extol barer prose as “spare,” as if logo-parsimoniousness were a self-evident virtue; or, even more absurdly, as “precise,” as if the word “table” is somehow more like a table than a prolix descriptive alternative.

Machen draws on agonized conceptions of a god whose ubiquity makes it totalitarian and/or predatory (as for example in Francis Thompson's astounding poem of devotional terror “Hound of Heaven” (c. 1889)), to depict a numinous so threatening that it operates not as liberation but as discipline, policed with acts of astonishing narratorial sadism.

Finally, the concrete nature of these readings must be underscored, whichdo not content themselves with vague generalities about oppression, class,exclusion, and the like, but do the work and make the articulated linksbetween base and superstructure. Balibar’s reading of the opening sentenceof Flaubert’sUn coeur simple(in which all three types of syntactic compe-tence—simple declaration, Latinate case-relations, tropes—are present andsuperimposed) is a model of a literary analysis which has left the double bindof the intrinsic and the extrinsic behind it, and which has new things to tellus about the emergence of the effect of “literariness” from the dialectic ofclass as it informs language production

restrict our discussion, as Althusser himself seems to do, to the “individual”interpellation which generates the subject-position of an “individual,” theclass content of such subject-formation will not emerge, since it can onlybecome visible as such when we grasp the positioning of that particularsubject against radically different interpellations. Within the individual“consciousness” this differential relationship must remain external; it is notexperienced from within, but interpretively added on by some apparentlyomniscient commentator.

What Renée Balibar will now show is the way in which each of these threetracks acquires the capacity for the production of a certain kind of (increas-ing complex) language:

This is an institutional process that has beenexhaustively studied by Bourdieu