Tractatus Von Charybdis…

…und drang revisionist mingus,
mas ah um the wrongest way possible.

“The only things of value in the car were a paperback copy of Finnegans Wake and a borrowed hardback of Fear of Flying. She had read both books but the Erica Jong had one day plummeted from a hole in the floorboard during a parking maneuver in the rain. Kneeling in the gutter, she reached underneath and rescued it from a pothole-sized lake. Its owner wouldn’t be too thrilled upon its return. June never went to the impound yard to claim her nonpareil. It did, however, prompt her to write a thesis titled:

Fifty Ways To Spell Nietzsche
or
Why I Just Kant

A critical dissertation on 20th century reasoning as defined by elements of dystopian ideologies and their resulting cultural ethics, the paper was marked ‘Clever, but incomplete?’

The professor must have driven a Volvo. Or maybe he never had to wait tables. He probably had a spouse’s car to borrow or a AAA card eliminating worries about terms of transportation that kept him from considering how a broken-down Buick could be the main determiner of fate. Attempting to defend her treatise, she watched the professor place both elbows on the desk (the fingertips of both hands together) and rest his chin on the hook of his thumbs. His eyes glazed over in an institutional When-will-you-please-finish-torturing-me? manner. Finally, he raised his head and said, as if quoting from the Chilton Manual of College Instructors, ‘That, my dear girl, is what Mechanics is for. You need to pay closer attention to Pure Reason.’

It was not the first time she understood murder but she stifled a response.”

—the unthinkable Chaper III

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