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Well over 50 years ago science fiction grandmaster Alfred Bester invented the earworm in his novel THE DEMOLISHED MAN. The quotation I’ve calligraphed in one such. In a society of telepathy, this odd and resonant ditty was intended to baffle mind-probers who wanted secrets.

Bester’s jingle is well stuck in my head. Often when I am walking it pops up and matches the rhythm of my steps. When I am tired it helps–kind of pulls me along.

Nowadays, though, “tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun” takes on a more ominous, even apocalyptic, imbuement. These are interesting times indeed.

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Many of my friends (and otherwise) regard me as a purveyor of bad puns. (Guilty.) But were I to live ten lifetimes,  I would never come up with as many puns, bad or not, as has Piers Anthony, creator of Xanth, which is shaped like Florida but partakes of Earth and many other realities.

I first became aware of this gentleman via The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction in the early 70s, which published his short story “Wood You?” My arrogant teenage self thought the story, about an improbable wood-splitting contest, was stupid, with overflogging of certain joke-concepts and an array of putrid puns.

What I missed was that it was also magnificent, arresting storytelling. After well over 45 years it is the ONLY story in that issue of F&SF that I remember–with the possible exception of Avram Davidson’s “Selectra Six-Ten,” which may have been in that issue as well.

I won’t transcribe the acrostic poem I wrote on this page. It is an array of stupid puns with zero magnificent storytelling. But it, and this post, serve as a memorandom (pun intended) to myself to later do the same decent job on Anthony that I did on Theodore Sturgeon about five years back, including a well-rendered portrait.

Trivia: Mr. Anthony has punned every month of the year. I say Inktober, he says Octogre. Let’s call the whole thing Fun. Rhymes with Pun. What Piers Anthony has taught me is that a play on words can help a person be Playful.

In the film version of JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR Pontius Pilate, played brilliantly by Barry Dennen, fleers to the mob: “Behold the man! Behold your shattered king!” The mob sticks to its guns: “We have no king but Caesar.” Pilate rages: “You hypocrites–you hate us more than him!” The mob doubles down: “We have no king but Caesar. CRUCIFY HIM! CRUCIFY HIM!”

“Ecce” is Latin for Behold. “Voilà” is French for Behold, in a way. And “Looky” is also a loose Behold, though “Looky here” is more common, at least the last time I lookied.

Behold the acrosticizations of variants of Behold.

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Here are the texts of the two acrostic poems:

Be (Ecce) Hold

Battened hatches don’t preclude an interjective Oh

Barleycornish cornucopia may yes a no

Ectoplasmic outbursts of an undeveloped soul

Even as we speak convince some fools that Crap is Gold.

voilà/looky

volunteers camp out in sheol

outlined chalk in Orange day•glo

indicate the urge to stay–o

ladle up that special k

à la carte reveals a way

 

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It is the 18th of October, A.D. 2018, 4 PM Mountain Standard Time. I am just south of Indian School Road on Central, at Yoshi’s, a little fast-ethnic-food restaurant whose slogan is “Have a Rice Day.” I’ve just had their Dragon Bowl in the Beef incarnation, so I am full of spicy roast beef and rice and carrot slivers and onion rims and bell pepper chunks, plus thin-sliced marinated ginger which is one of their offered condiments. I washed it down with Pepsi from the fountain.

Here in the American Southwest, if you say “Omma go get some neat,” you think you said “I am going to get something to eat.” So today my double acrostic pokes fun at my Southwestern accent.

Some Neat

Sí is Yes & No is Nein

One may say I’m hai to dine

Minor Food Gods, hear my plea

Elevate me to a T

Sí is Spanish for Yes, Nein is German for No, and Hai is Japanese for Yes. Hai is meant to be a pun on High as well. To be High is to be elevated with the help of chemistry, or romance, or life’s pleasure.

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I am Gary. Harrison Ford is Indy, for obvious cinematic reasons. And Eleanor Roosevelt is Anna, for that was her real first name.

And “Gary, Indiana” is a song and a town. I wonder if other Garys react to the song with the same revulsion I do. As for the town, for the longest time it was an exemplar of how not to deal with industrial waste.

So this page with its whimsical acrostic is an attempt at alchemization. It is a Sweetener and a Lightnesser, if and only if I did the job I set out to do.

Here are the words to the triple acrostic, trochaic quadrameter, ABBA rhyme scheme and all:

Gary Indy Anna

Ginseng chives and belladonna

Aromatics snail on down

Random dips dissolve a frown

Yester-year’s Americana

 

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Many years ago Kimon Nicolaïdes, an art instructor, produced an immensely popular book, The Natural Way to Draw. The book is full of wisdom, including a schedule of drawing exercises, a boatload of drawing examples from raw beginner to accomplished master, and the two words of advice that have yielded for me almost fifty years’ worth of rich reward: “Draw anything.”

A willingness to draw anything is a willingness to fail. Every drawing is an approximation, but some subjects for drawings–layered reflections, for instance–are acid tests of patience and skill. The drawing I provide for this post certainly fails the test. It is clumsy and compositionally shaky. But my next drawing will be better precisely because this one is so flawed. It builds my determination to slow down, focus and consider. The next drawing is always, to some extent, an apology and a repentance for previous drawings.