The Function Of Criticism
For Sofia by Pepijn Sauer You live with the question. Wondering how to proceed, we find ways to make things happen. We do not u... [449 words]
One Small Moment by Shelley J Alongi One woman's small action makes a lasting impression on a man condemned to die for his crime. [1,847 words]
Last Hours by Shelley J Alongi A general contemplates his decision before formally declaring war. [1,467 words]
Collateral Damage by David Gardiner Some explosions keep on echoing. [4,127 words]
Wolf In Janie's Shadow by Wolfa Of a girl who fell through the cracks in the world. [2,103 words]
The Wedding Banquet by Anthony S Maulucci A rich Italian from the Abruzzi region holds a feast to find a bride and falls in love with... [1,815 words]
2am by MacKenzie Morgan This is my first contribution to the site. It's an excerpt from a journal I kept over the summer. Please re... [3,361 words]
The Seventh Inning Stretch by Kurt Kitasaki A satire on professional sports. [2,230 words]
The Nova by Kurt Kitasaki A satire on executives in the automotive industry. [2,647 words]
Witness by Pepijn Sauer You have seen things. I thank you for describing them to me with so much care and poetic accuracy. Your... [826 words]
White Church by John Karl A passing of innocence and the expectation of one's future. [349 words]
Which Is The Way? by Sreenivasa Murthy Govindaraju Always in need of money and finally undergoes humiliation under the very nose of his teenage ... [2,246 words]
The Mind That Is Morning by Pepijn Sauer The mind that is morning swims. As it grows later it will become frosted glass; an emp... [459 words]
The Girl In The Taxi by Richard Koss A shy, young man has an erotic encounter with a strange girl. Is it real or just a dream? [1,493 words]
The First Time I Met God... by Joel Harper None necessary. [616 words]
The End Of History And The Last Fish by Pepijn Sauer When Field commander Asinine launched his final all out withdrawal the fir... [1,168 words]
Plague Of Time by Kevin Cope This is a story I keep playing around with and as yet is still unfinished. I am not sure how I w... [5,118 words]
Party by Pepijn Sauer Actually the host is dead. It took me a while to notice, but it's true. The host is so dead he has a lot ... [581 words]
Our Father Who Aren't In Heaven by Johnny Abrahams A man searches for his father but will he find him? [3,026 words]
Is Evil Edible? by Johnny Abrahams A very brief introductory work by a person who wishes he could write better than he can. [542 words]
In The End All Becomes Clear by Johnny Abrahams When death comes knocking, do you open the door? [831 words]
Heyman by John Karl Taipei: Big spiders, no drinking water, and lots of Taiwan Beer... Give me 10 reviews and I'll post pict... [557 words]
Gravity by Pepijn Sauer I circle the gravity of this situation in elliptical curves. Inside the fences, so fashionably dressed ... [589 words]
God Bless The President by John Karl Confrontation with knife wielding drunk in Oregon bar... did not have to be this way. [584 words]
Eurojazz by John Karl Stuck in Italy, partying, and then some... [650 words]
Don't Mind Her, She's 'armless by Johnny Abrahams Ugly people have feelings too. [1,000 words]
Adventures In The Land Of The Unexpected by Will E Drillit A satirical look at the conference circuit in the unusual setting of P... [1,066 words]
Adolescent Innocence 2: Evil Never Dies by Loki Evil proves it never dies in this second game of death and destruction. [14,390 words]
A Song Of Absence by Pepijn Sauer Absence. Everybody is on the beach but you. Meister Eckhart sunbathing in bright green short... [1,412 words]
A Modern Day Love Story by Shari Calkin Just an example of how God works miracles in people's lives, especially when they least... [1,241 words]
A Deadly Kind Of Love by Kevin Cope Billy Harper loved his mother just a little too much... [1,846 words]
A Changing Of The Seasons by Bradley Postma Allegorical romance relating the fickleness of love with the weather. [6,240 words]
Within The Darkness by G S Kimbro Short Story of a strange encounter in a restaurant. [1,707 words]
Tarradale's Option by Ed Bruce A tale about life in the Scottish Highlands, an incomer's attempt to defy tradition and the... [3,533 words]
Tale Number One: Dederik Flunn by Banae Wan A young man inherits his father's job as a professional murderer. On his first m... [2,480 words]
Salvation In Death by Alberto Pupo Things are never what they seem... [493 words]
Regretting Mistakes.. by Alberto Pupo a weird tale of a deranged little mind... [1,044 words]
Playing Life By The Rules by Kevin Cope Some last thoughts before I go. [792 words]
On The Way To Retreat by Muhammad Nasrullah Khan Story of a man who sacrificed everything for his country. [1,881 words]
On Orcas Island by John Karl Yuppie vacation to local resort... [269 words]
Legacy by Adhara Von Nuremberg There's more to life than living. [1,612 words]
Kelly's Neighbour by Roxanne Kendrick - [535 words]
John's Secret by Glen Pearson Bill's big brother John is acting a bit weird. What's going on? (Not for impressionable kiddies... [2,154 words]
Faint Bell - A Story You Should Read Because I Said So, And I'm Smart. by Scott W. Hazzard A southern lady waits for her man. No su... [699 words]
Dogfish by Wolfa An owner tells the story of a neurotic, once-abused dog. [1,352 words]
All-Day Breakfast by Kevin Cope An ordinary day. An ordinary guy. A not so ordinary cafe. [2,336 words]
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In Hour Of Death by Muhammad Nasrullah Khan Dear Readers I have written this short-story in context of Gabriel Garcia's farewell letter to... [1,664 words]
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The Maniacal Core Of His Unsound Mind by Banae Wan (I want comments.) One eighth done. Reprint. Changed title with anothe... [1,195 words]
The Gap by W A Hardy - [4,055 words]
The Confession by Kathleen McCarthy A murderous cousin plans to murder her way to money. [2,119 words]
The Beast Of Briovera by Christopher Grady In every Fairytale there is some truth, it is up to us to seperate the 'Fairy' from the '... [4,029 words]
Sunday Drive by Antony Berrios A family�s last trip together. [736 words]
Smothered by Paula M Shackleford The story of a girl who drives away men without meaning to. Will she ever find true love? [3,970 words]
Sitting Still by Scott W. Hazzard An ex-writer reflects upon his miserable life while receiving a routine lap dance from his favori... [2,159 words]
Shattered Lives by Kathleen McCarthy A story of a romantic triangle with deadly consequences. [4,761 words]
Who Knows What? by Iain Spittles This is an updated version, take a look, give a comment in return, that's all I ask. [966 words]
Neighbour by Sreenivasa Murthy Govindaraju A retired official who remained as a bachelor attempts to write his auto-biogrphy drawing inspiratin ... [2,296 words]
Lane 23 by Vanessa E Clemmons A mother competing with patience and her daughter's determination to obtain glory. [343 words]
Franky And The Crash by Scott W. Hazzard A gruff ragamuffin rampages through a city to become an anti-"pretty boy" -anti-hero. Rea... [1,079 words]
Dad's Discipline by Oscar Oljmex - [684 words]
Annie And Metoo by Arlene Gunn A lonely girl befriends her shadow. One day it suddenly disappears.She is again lonely but find... [1,400 words]
All My Ex's Ain't In Texas by Patti Dinneen A native New Englander recounts her adventures in Texas. [2,308 words]
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TITLE (EDIT)
The Function Of Criticism |
DESCRIPTION
We forget without remembering what. Something started at some point but the point is now almost identical to everything; or rather, it is starting to be, unstoppably, constantly.
[774 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Mind |
AUTHOR
Pepijn Sauer |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Short Biography:
Pepijn Sauer
Born midnight between the 3rd and 4th of February 1970 in Arnhem, The Netherlands. Studied Japanese, Philosophy and Psychology at the universities of Leiden and Utrecht, finished neither because of tendencies towards the more obscure sides of the above mentioned fields. Paints, does illustrations and translates from Dutch to English and vice versa. (mainly scientific articles).
[September 2001] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
[email protected] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (8)
A Song Of Absence (Short Stories) Absence. Everybody is on the beach but you. Meister Eckhart sunbathing in bright green shorts. Dostojevski and William James play beach volleyball against the Marx Brothers. In the shadow of a palm t... [1,412 words] [Mind]
Dis-Appointment (Poetry) Short poem. [12 words] [Romance]
For Sofia (Short Stories) You live with the question. Wondering how to proceed, we find ways to make things happen. We do not understand the question. It is there despite our lack of understanding, as are many other things. Fo... [449 words] [Mind]
Gravity (Short Stories) I circle the gravity of this situation in elliptical curves. Inside the fences, so fashionably dressed in distractedly elegant drapings of barbed wire, the TV show goes on showing. (White noise. Fragm... [589 words] [Mind]
Party (Short Stories) Actually the host is dead. It took me a while to notice, but it's true. The host is so dead he has a lot of time to give parties. [581 words] [Mind]
The End Of History And The Last Fish (Short Stories) When Field commander Asinine launched his final all out withdrawal the first one to be killed was major Fuck Up. The loss was grave but they had no time to bury him. [1,168 words] [Mind]
The Mind That Is Morning (Short Stories) The mind that is morning swims. As it grows later it will become frosted glass; an empty couch by the window; twelve words; a dolphin blowing rings of air and an empty coffee cup in the sunlight. [459 words] [Mind]
Witness (Short Stories) You have seen things. I thank you for describing them to me with so much care and poetic accuracy. Your eyes must be beautiful. As for the things at hand, I am unclear regarding their purpose, if any. [826 words]
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The Function Of Criticism
Pepijn Sauer
��������The Function of Criticism
Dear Absence,
Today (when?) The Function of Criticism passed away. Criticism remains with us, functionless, futile. We search for meaning desperately. The quotes remain. They stand around silently, inarticulate: their way of grieving. Even Discourse is given to bouts of unstructuralized soundlessness now. We no longer have direction. No means of meaning without measures, no excellence, no failure.
We forget without remembering what. Something started at some point but the point is now almost identical to everything; or rather, it is starting to be, unstoppably , constantly. We search for measures, for without measures we are not even capable of determining whether we are lost or not. The measures, however, appear to be lost.
The sound of time passing.
I have come back to this letter, not knowing if I should be writing it. (Am I?) Everything has been growing terrifyingly normal in ways to strange to describe. The streets are filled with Cheshire tigers declamating Blake. I met one of them in the street who gave me a Rubik��s cube with fifty four green squares - as if to underline the pointlessness of everything - before vanishing into thin air. And how thin the air has become - you can reach right through it to touch things or even see them!
At night I stand on the roof and spread my arms as if I want to ask something or yell but there is just silence. I sleep standing there because the vocabulary has been growing enormously - I possessed a pocket dictionary that now fills the whole of my apartment. When I knock it refuses to let me in. Behind the door I can hear it ceaselessly reciting itself , growing more tautological by the day.
The sound of time slowly growing synchronous.
Aimless, we are now shooting at everything. When things fall down, and they still do at times, we try to determine what they are but everything has become an elephant in the darkroom of our cognition. Definitions abound but somehow never fit together in such a way as to form the description of an elephant, or anything else possessing any measure of discreteness for that matter. Part of the problem is that irony has now become the rule, defeating it��s own purpose. The rules themselves are growing synaesthetic, including their own exceptions and anything else they can get their hands on.
The sound of time dissolving.
A few days have passed and things remain indeterminate. From the night of Saturday onwards the silence has been transforming itself into a giant billboard advertising a movie full of special effects though regretfully plotless. I can see it when I sleep on my roof. The movie is called ��Life��. Everyone not already mad has been given a free ticket and received orders to eat his/her passport. Many words have been used to describe this process as accurately as possible. Catchy slogans have been developed to convince people of the importance of everything. Our diner tonight will consist of stir-fried passports. I tried to call you today but all the lines where busy. It appears all means of communication under the motto 'the medium is the message' have declared themselves independent and now refuse to communicate anything but themselves to themselves. I think this is true, because when you listen carefully, you can hear telephones ceaselessly dialing their own numbers.
The sound of something no longer there.
They say time has passed. We assume this to be true. 'Life' is so successful (even though many do not like it, it has a strange power over people that forces them to see it time and time again) that the studios have realized a sequel will not be feasible. 'Life' has turned out to be the movie to end all movies. Without The Function of Criticism there was no way to keep this from happening. The studios should have known this but they never did. In order to secure their existence they have been forced to take desperate measures. Today the law obliging everyone to have their memories periodically erased was passed by congress. What this desperate measure was supposed to accomplish remains unclear. Luckily everyone forgot about it after it��s first implementation.
The sound of sound.
It is still today and always will be. History has stopped being circular, it is spherical now. Linearity is gone, everything is happening right now. It is therefore impossible to continue this letter. I cannot hope to see you soon as all hope is gone in such a radical way that it is not even a thing of the past. I'll be seeing you always.
Yours truly,
Art.
(For Remco.)
������
������
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 1999 Pepijn Sauer |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
August 2007 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2803
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