Mr. Tea
Let's Talk About Ceps
http://dissensusthenovel.blogspot.com/
PM me with your email address and I'll add you to the author list if you want to contribute.
Dissensus - The Novel
- Thread starter Mr. Tea
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- post-ergotic
http://dissensusthenovel.blogspot.com/
PM me with your email address and I'll add you to the author list if you want to contribute.
baboon2004
Darned cockwombles.
v cool. Can we change it so that the oldest posts are at the top, rather than the bottom, else it's gonna be a nightmare to read.... will contribute anon...
D
droid
Guest
If you're really trying to emulate Brown, you need to dumb it down - a lot. Remove all attempts at style or originality. Your prose needs to read like Stephen King on ketamine.
eg:
http://itre.cis.upenn.edu/~myl/languagelog/archives/000844.html
eg:
http://itre.cis.upenn.edu/~myl/languagelog/archives/000844.html
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Mr. Tea
Let's Talk About Ceps
Nah, I reckon the reverse order will just add to the ergodic effect.
Droid, I dunno how Brown-esque I really want to make this - maybe just daft 'symbology' in a Burroughs-esque style - or we could alternate chapters wildly in style, from Beat-prose cut-ups to appallingly stilted thriller-by-numbers hack-work...just play around, I guess.
you
Well-known member
"the infamous Dissensus Novel imploded after just 24 sublime hours of renegade creativity. 'You's' drug abuse, the many power struggles and a schism between the core founders lead to it's demise. 'Droid' attempted to create an offshoot project that would stay true to the strictly Brownian genesis of the original Dissensus Novel project, but sadly, this too failed after just 48 hours due to funding issues and scheduling difficulties."
baboon2004
Darned cockwombles.
Nah, I reckon the reverse order will just add to the ergodic effect.
This is not House of Leaves, you know!
Or...is it?
baboon2004
Darned cockwombles.
Maybe a film of someone screaming continuously as a cam in the corner of the screen, for 'ambience'.
Or the shamanic mong-face.
Or the shamanic mong-face.
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Mr. Tea
Let's Talk About Ceps
Meanwhile, across town, the dashing and rugged American symbolologist Ben Drown was investigating the brutal murder of renowned, celebrated and famous museum curator Jacques Plotte at the British Museum. It wasn't his job or anything, but the police were kinda stuck and therefore threw all protocol out of the window and asked him to lead the investigation
Plotte had collapsed in a pool of blood in front of a display case full of eighteenth-century porcelain bedpans. In his dying moments he'd managed to smear what looked like a message in his own blood on the front of the case. In rough brown letters (not red, because blood goes brown when it dries, Drown noted sagely) were scrawled the words "OH FUCK". Drown pulled a shamanic mong-face while pondering what this cryptic message could mean.
He was shaken out of his reverie by Plotte's granddaughter, Sexine, who'd rushed to London as soon as she'd heard the terrible news. "'Oo would do such an 'orreeble thing to such an 'armless old man?", she wept, prettily yet snottily.
Plotte had collapsed in a pool of blood in front of a display case full of eighteenth-century porcelain bedpans. In his dying moments he'd managed to smear what looked like a message in his own blood on the front of the case. In rough brown letters (not red, because blood goes brown when it dries, Drown noted sagely) were scrawled the words "OH FUCK". Drown pulled a shamanic mong-face while pondering what this cryptic message could mean.
He was shaken out of his reverie by Plotte's granddaughter, Sexine, who'd rushed to London as soon as she'd heard the terrible news. "'Oo would do such an 'orreeble thing to such an 'armless old man?", she wept, prettily yet snottily.
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mistersloane
heavy heavy monster sound
Inside
It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly a shot rang out.
"I didn't want to kill him" he thought. How many times was it he'd thought that now. He thought back to all of times, all of the earlier times. It was so much easier then, back in the days of fanzines. That's how it had started you know. So much easier then. You just sent a letter from a fake address to John Eden or Paul Meme, you convinced them they had found a brother in arms, someone who too loved Current 93 AND dub reggae. Then came the excuses not to meet, the fake sister's death and the sorry I forgots, I was moving squats. Then you sent another letter, to one of the peripheral ones. You made friends with them, agreed for them to come to an address. A place you'd squatted no-one else knew about.
Then the shot would ring out, hidden by the booming bass.
It was so easy then.
Damn the internet. Damn this surveillance society for making food hard to come by.
It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly a shot rang out.
"I didn't want to kill him" he thought. How many times was it he'd thought that now. He thought back to all of times, all of the earlier times. It was so much easier then, back in the days of fanzines. That's how it had started you know. So much easier then. You just sent a letter from a fake address to John Eden or Paul Meme, you convinced them they had found a brother in arms, someone who too loved Current 93 AND dub reggae. Then came the excuses not to meet, the fake sister's death and the sorry I forgots, I was moving squats. Then you sent another letter, to one of the peripheral ones. You made friends with them, agreed for them to come to an address. A place you'd squatted no-one else knew about.
Then the shot would ring out, hidden by the booming bass.
It was so easy then.
Damn the internet. Damn this surveillance society for making food hard to come by.
nomos
Administrator
proto business: http://seagullscreamingkillherkillher.blogspot.com/2006/10/blogger-18.html
you can call me bill.
you can call me bill.
slim jenkins
El Hombre Invisible
Clear your inbox Mr Tea.