Butler speaks, and Perraultian vipers slither out, squirmudgeoning onto ink-blotted grey pastiche paper and tranvesting into diamonds: toads and diamonds, toads and diamonds: how I love Perrault.inanisms.
Blake has language, but no meaning. Words oscillate with a vested light and charge the plane of paper until they combust. Apocalyptic prophet, Butler reams his world with doom embedded imagery lacking spatio-temporal placement but suffused with emotion: alienation, destruction, fragmentation. I get this guy. He’s consumed by feeling, powered by sensation, but blind to any Vision (in the grand sense. Hallucinations there are many). Plot lines succumb under pressure, any kind of outlines really, and language comes into its own: glass pelting down, floods, gravel: staccato of finite chunks, fizzling off into Spent. Of mind, emotion, endurance.
Blake has language, but no meaning. Words oscillate with a vested light and charge the plane of paper until they combust. Apocalyptic prophet, Butler reams his world with doom embedded imagery lacking spatio-temporal placement but suffused with emotion: alienation, destruction, fragmentation. I get this guy. He’s consumed by feeling, powered by sensation, but blind to any Vision (in the grand sense. Hallucinations there are many). Plot lines succumb under pressure, any kind of outlines really, and language comes into its own: glass pelting down, floods, gravel: staccato of finite chunks, fizzling off into Spent. Of mind, emotion, endurance.
