Forceps - Goes Back

That's Marco Polo, by the way.

Caffeine defeats glandular fever. Today on the bus, or somewhere before, I had the idea of working from the form Italo Calvino uses for Invisible Cities. How to describe it... perhaps serial prose poems? His are prose poems describing cities, framed as by a fictionalized Marco Polo to inform the great Kublai Kahn on his vast empire. One of my favourites:

No city is more inclined than Eusapia to enjoy life and flee care. And to make the leap from life to death less abrupt, the inhabitants have constructed an identical copy of their city, underground. All corpses, dried in such a way that the skeleton remains sheathed in yellow skin, are carried down there, to continue their former activities. And, of these activities, it is their carefree moments that take first place: most of the corpses are seated around laden tables, or placed in dancing positions, or made to play little trumpets. But all the trades and professions of the living Eusapia are also at work below ground, or at least those that the living performed with more contentment than irritation: the clockmaker, amid all the stopped clocks of his shop, places his parchment ear against and out-of-tune grandfather's clock; a barber, with dry brush, lathers the cheeckbones of an actor learning his role, studying the script with hollow sockets; a girl with a laughing skull milks the carcass of a heifer.

To be sure, many of the living want a fate after death different from their lot in life: the necropolis is crowded with big-game hunters, mezzosopranos, bankers, violinists, duchesses, courtesans, generals - more than the living city ever contained.

The job of accompanying the dead down below and arranging them in the desired place is assigned to a confraternity of hooded brothers. No one else has access to the Eusapia of the dead and everything known about it has been learned from them.

They say that the same confraternity exists among the dead and that it never fails to lend a hand; the hooded brothers, after death, will perform the same job in the other Eusapia; rumour has it that some of them are already dead but continue going up and down. In any case, this confraternity's authority in the Eusapia of the living is vast.

They say that every time they go below thei find something changed in the lower Eusapia; the dead make innovations in their city; not many, but surely the fruit of sober reflection, not passing whims.

From one year to the next, they say, the Eusapia of the dead becomes unrecognizable. And the living, to keep up with them, also want to do everything that the hooded brothers tell them about the novelties of the dead. So the Eusapia of the living has taken to copying its underground copy.

They say that this has not just now begun to happen: actually it was the dead who built the upper Eusapia, in the image of their city. They say that in the twin cities there is no longer any way of knowing who is alive and who is dead.

They say that in the twin cities there is no longer any way of knowing who is alive and who is dead.

I have an idea to use this form to utilize this form, except replacing 'city' with 'CEP'. I think the CEP has enough relevance as a form beyond the course to sustain this. The CEP more generally stands for a project, a coming of age, a journey.

Which is where it comes into play more subtly. Marco Polo's feats were that of the journey, of what sights he saw, and that's one big analogy to the CEP. But similarly, in Invisible Cities and elsewhere, Marco Polo's truthfulness is questioned: did he really go to all of those places? In Invisible Cities, he responds to the effect that he never left Venice, and that all of these cities are to be found there, through different perspectives and understandings. Equally, I will not embark on any of these CEPs (or will I?), but note that they must of course exist within my CEP too.

Or something. I'm moving, it looks like, to Penryn. It's all happening very fast, someone's coming to look at my room tomorrow and I guess if it suits her then we'll be moved by the start of November. It'll be good for me, financially, dietarily, and emotionally. I hope.