writing, reading, and communicating, oh my! ?
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writing, reading, and communicating, oh my! ?
08-30-2017, 11:46 AM (This post was last modified: 08-30-2017 11:53 AM by eye2i2hear.)
Post: #1
writing, reading, and communicating, oh my! ?
BaselessAssertions #ConTrollers #dumb&dumber
TL;Don'tRead INFYA alert aka scroll, it's freeE --->>
[scrolls back up to quick-review the website banner... bringing about a voluntary society one member at a time ✓]

i've thought now and again about writing & posting something along the order of this post. Recent events prompted me to get-a-round-tuit. Points to cover:
What is my objective in posting my writing on the forum?
What of the objection to my posting/writing style?

First, what (finally) prompted this post:
(08-29-2017 11:19 AM)Ripsaw Wrote:  
(08-29-2017 09:27 AM)NonEntity Wrote:  
(08-29-2017 08:36 AM)Ripsaw Wrote:  
(07-04-2017 11:05 AM)NonEntity Wrote:  
eYeToozela Wrote:(like with your linked noted Comments, "TL;DR" is one i get quite regularly enuff here2)

I'll suggest that if you actually took the time to write clearly, coherently, and with concision you might find people would read your material, which often has some value - but buried in the multiple redundancies, attempts to be cute, and general propensity to show off your self perceived brilliance it is simply not worth the effort to try and dig out the meaning. But you know this and continue to refine methods to make your writing ever more incomprehensible. Facepalm

WOW !...talk about the pot calling the kettle black,.... this non post beats that all to hell. Poke

Thanks for your support, Rippy! LOL
But seriously, I welcome being called out on my shit anytime you feel the criticism has merit. AndHominems less so, but, hey... itza free country.

LOLOL....no problem buddy....If you recall, I was the one that first told you two guys I couldn't understand a damn thing either of you wrote, and asked you to type it so a dumbass like me could understand it....in plain words,,,,. My, how far I have come since those days.
[Image: light%20man%20kungfu.gif?dl=0]
Secondly, was this via a Reader's Digest Magazine feature:
Quote:As part of my research, I collected every digitized number one New York Times bestseller from 1960 to 2014 and ran the Flesch-Kincaid test on all 563 of them. Most books meant for a general audience will fall within the fourth- to eleventh-grade range, as did all of these bestsellers. If you look at the scores over the decades, an unmistakable trend becomes clear: The bestseller list is full of much simpler fiction today than it was 40 or 50 years ago. In the 1960s, the median book had a grade level of 8. Today the median grade level is 6. (These are the 18 books you can read in a day.)

On the upper end, James ­Michener’s 1988 novel Alaska had a grade-level score of 11.1. Of the books I analyzed, 25 had a grade level of 9 or higher. 
But just two of these were written 
after 2000.

On the low end, eight books tied for the lowest score of 4.4. All were written after 2000 by one of three high-volume writers: James Patterson, Janet Evano­vich, and Nora Roberts.

There’s no way around it: While prizewinning literary novels such as Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections make the number one spot on occasion, overall, the books we’re reading have become simpler. They aren’t the only example of words that seem less wise today. For instance, presidential State of the Union addresses have gone from a 17th-grade level pre-1900 to a 12th-grade level in the 1900s to below a 10th-grade level in the 2000s, prompting a Guardian headline to declare, “The state of our union is … dumber.” Does that mean that books—and therefore their ­readers—are getting “dumber” too?

It is true that today’s bestsellers have much shorter sentences than the bestsellers of the past, a drop from a median of 17 words per sentence in the 1960s to 12 in the 2000s. Also, today’s list is much more often topped by commercial novels than in the past.

This supports my “guilty pleasures” theory. Of course, there have always been “guilty pleasure” books on the list. In the 1960s, it was Valley of 
the Dolls; in the 1970s, The Exorcist; in the 1980s, the Bourne books; and 
in the 1990s, the Jurassic Park sequel, The Lost World.

But if we break down bestsellers by genre, we find that there has been a long-term shift within these guilty pleasures. Thrillers have become “dumber.” Romance novels have become “dumber.” There has been an across-the-board “dumbification” of popular fiction. Among current authors who have written at least five number one bestsellers, most, including Stephen King, Danielle Steel, and Harlan Coben, rank at or below the sixth-grade level.

My dot connecting here comes in the form of indeed, are "We The Readers" "dumber" when it comes to reading --and by extension, when it comes to communicating (genuinely/thoroughly/knowingly)?

Or, rather than "dumber" (or is it defining it?), perhaps it's more due to what i'll label the Advertising Affect/Effect? Commercial spots with an addictive influence?
Getting info in snippets, as flashes, 15 to 30 to 60 seconds worth and We're done with that, on to the next round or back to our entertainment/amusement/sedative/distraction (not to mention any subliminal, as, what forms in our thinking regarding how info is popularly "properly" done -vs- not done; see newscasts commercials/spots)?

Rather than "dumber" than prior generations, have We been taught (intentionally or by demonstration) another approach to getting Our Info? All info? Anywhere, everywhere (else)?

The other primary dot connection coming in what i sense behind what NonEntity oft terms "proper" e.g. proper writing (circa proper spelling, proper grammar, proper punctuation) --and from whenceforth cometh such propriety?

One thing nigh undeniable in (thereisno)Our reader environment: a proper education --aka Public Education aka Government Education.? And has that generally been a lifting up or dumbing down, you think? Questioning orientation, or Obedience orientation?

What if the two above are (primarily/principally?) what's behind today's "proper" writing circa proper reading?
[sidebar: fwiw2i get the same shrapnel circa sum on facebook and in emails as i do with sum here]

Two examples of (even) earlier writing style (ye olde King's AEnglish laidest aside) stand out for me personally: the writings of John Locke (see Habenae's posts) and Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (see my own, if you dare dive into blackhole "property" threads!?). How simple do you, today's reader, find their writings? And subsequently, how proper?
(i know for myself, they both take focus and concentration --but prove worthy of the sacrifice; focus/concentration as breaking indoctrinated/forced habits? count me among the Ripsaws as having come along ways with reading such!)

i still recall the first time i read Proudhon's Property Is Theft thinking, mahn, my English Composition teachers/professors would shred this !! Status Quo, StateUS Quo? USA Proper!?
[Image: kookaid.gif] (or am i mixing up my own kool-ade?) [Image: sheep%20looks%20around.gif?dl=0]
Am i equating my writing with the likes of Locke and Proudhon? No and yes. ☒ No, as to it being as likely influential, but ☑ yes, as to it being a style no longer popular; no longer proper. ?
(tho perhaps, here2, the ever insightfully brilliant NonEntity, in having obviously pegged me as doing this all to be clever/cute/display my self perceived brilliance but none of the above, will peg me as being self-delusional on this point as well.? /snarcasm)

Brian Kiley, circa RDigest, Wrote:My writing teacher told me she thinks I could be the next J.D. Salinger.
She's encouraging me to stay out of the public eye for 50 years.

ditto, this pubic eye2i.? (the artist formerly known as a dickhead & the whorse road inn own)

i want to pull back up something Ripsaw wrote/said, here:
Ripsaw Wrote:If you recall, I was the one that first told you two guys I couldn't understand a damn thing either of you wrote, and asked you to type it so a dumbass like me could understand it....in plain words,,,,. My, how far I have come since those days.

While i'd need to hear (as well as would value hearing) more [sic] about what is meant as/and being communicated, i find it encouraging that he's "come far since those days" (those "daze"?)! You?
Wonder how/why that's happened...?
(granted, it may be too akin with how blisters on the hands & feet come about? here's to hoping it's more like how guitarists find string fingering callouses eventually form as benefits)

So what of my posting/writing style?
Mye posting/writing objectives: to communicate who i am and what's part of my thinking, along with hopefully something in that thinking that'll aid in bringing about a voluntary society. Genuinely, richly, expansively knowing another being a crucial aspect of conflict prevention imo.

Part of who i consider myself to be comes from my valuing of humor, as laughter (=medicine, as the saying goes). How closely that skirts to being "clever" to "cute" (much less any "intentions") being what, if not subjective/personal/relative? Personality being something worth communicating, no? The person behind/beneath the ideas being of +value.?
standard caveat, expressed how many times now: scroll, it's freeeeE --->
Quote:Knock, knock.
Who's there?
To who?
To *whom.

A huge part of this for me as well, is to keep forefront what this is, and thus isn't. It's a "forum" with quite a broad set of boards in it's walk i.e. distinguishing categorization e.g. "Learning & Instruction" to "Jokes & Funnies". Thus it's not a formal aka Proper writing class --if one values such as it is, as We have it, even!?

i see it more as i'd see a corner pub. (it's one of the reasons i post rarely on the Main Page viz Comments; tho the times i've spent perusing it, it seems as much like a pub as here, contrasted with a formal/proper public debate gathering; pubs being where the intoxication and subsequent fisticuffs to bloody skirmishes as often as not transpire)

Another aspect being what i've learned about and come to value about communication circa this medium: it's ALL terms aka words. Words being but potential signals. The word terms being more inclusive of signaling that word's meanings are terms of agreement. Perpetual, until you & another agree otherwise!?
Again, it sure seems plausible that Our Proper *cough* Public Education holds for the observer a foundational stone here: words are either ☑ "Right" or "Wrong", per Authoritarian Think-Speak. Rather than being inherently voluntary. Rather than, i'll offer for your consideration what i mean by my terms, it's I WILL TELL You what The Terms Mean (as Humpty Dumpty tagged it, "nothing more, nothing less")! In spite of dictionary's proving that false time and time and time again; dictionaries in fact being but historical recording of popularity contests --in spite of what Authoritarian Believers try to prove to the contrary (yay anArchy!).

Kory Stamper, of Merriam-Webster lexicographer fame, Wrote:The vast majority of people give no thought to the dictionary. It merely is, like the universe. To one group of people, the dictionary was handed down to humanity ex coeli, a hallowed tome of truth and wisdom as infallible as God. ... A dictionary is out of date then minute that it's done.

Cool. Kewel. Chill? Cold¿

Voltaire is attributed with saying, "If you wish to discourse with me, first define your terms."

And what of intercourse, Voltaire? What of intimate/deep/penetrating communication (in place of wham-bam-thank-you 'mam, I've gotta TV Show to watch!)?

Might a more contemporary approach to that, be to define your terms by giving additional terms/words, in process?
And to communicate being to explore nuances that are a part of one's self, as one's thinking --including awareness of another as one's self, but more and less?
(with a toss in of being a working out anarchist in the mix?) [Image: character0116.gif]

The other quote i've not posted in quite awhile, so hear goes:
"The biggest problem with communication is the illusion it has actually happened."

To be use, or not to be use, that is the question.
The question of the want-to communicator. To use few words, to use many terms, that question marked?
To be blunt/crude: To intercourse with or to fuck you, that is the question.? (ok, it's "a" question, aye?)

My desire here, on a forum, is not to communicate simply--at least rather than to risk not communicating fully. Who i am, where i am, how i am, why i am.

i'll offer again, per sum evidence touched upon herein, that simple is the way of Authoritarian-speak. Ditto, is proper.? Where'd the idea come from that that's what writing HAS TO BE? Same as the idea of Control, Governmental Style?

--eye2i2hear (here; to see eye to eye, to actually hear 1another)

ps: when you're trying to herd cats anarkists, what's the more likely to prove productive, z.) calling them taxpayers improper, and Declaring posting about The Rules, or, alphabetter.) communicating to them, through what they +value, a better way/better reasoning? (they've communicated their values, right NonControl/NonArchy?)
[Image: smiley_cat.gif]

* on the matter of KISS aka for sum as TL;DR i.e. simple aka less words/fewer words, is it significant that the forum software allows thouands+ words/characters? it's not Twitter, by any stretch, aye? why are We given such liberty? [apologies, i don't know the exact count, but i've only once exceeded/bumped up against it, and that was a copy>paste of another's work]

* on the matter of TV programming, with it's constant interruptions, typically totally off point, i find it fascinating that folks can't treat inclusions of thoughts in parentheses, in reading, just as easily as they can, and do, with commercials; is this evidence of yet more Proper Edumucating...? (We've not had such with "how to watch TV Properly" --you'll be Graded accordingly, aye?)

* i've written it before2, but i'll do so again here: a part of why i write as i do is that it helps me communicate with myself; thus i do it selfishly for some, in self-interest for others, as long term mutual benefit, aye Stirner? (see also, a means of checks & balances for re-mind-ing myself.?)

* another reason for writing/posting this? it'll give me a nifty "speed-dial" for any future repetitive rebukes/rants of the deja'moo variety on the topic! /inside point

* "INFYA" it's not for you anyways

Is it voluntary? (because if it isn't, what inherently is it?)
And can it be voluntary, if there's indoctrination, intimidation, coercion, threats & initiation of violence?
[not to be confused with asking: can it be said to be "voluntary" even when such is present.?]
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08-30-2017, 12:57 PM
Post: #2
RE: writing, reading, and communicating, oh my! ?
(08-30-2017 11:46 AM)eye2i2hear Wrote:  

Regarding the RD analysis of writing, It makes me wonder where my favorite author's writing grades scored.

Heinlein's early books were admittedly written for adolescent readers.

Asimov was another prodigious writer.

Piers Anthony laughed all the way to the bank, because even though the critics ripped his Xanth series, people gobbled up his books.

J.D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye. Horrible story.
It didn't help that the instructor of that class, Miss Garage (not its real name), was a horrible instructor.

As I've confessed before, eye's writing sometimes takes more concentration than I have at that moment.
Other writings of his, I think I've simply acclimatized to.

One thing I've noticed is NonE's deliberate misspellings to be,
what's that word... cute? Aka funny.

Community standards being to just ignore misspellings and typo's if the meaning can be understood.
Much different than the quatloosers saying one's words have no merit bcuz spelt rong.

As far as my posting, if I hear banter at the counter of a diner, If the conversation triggers a thought, I'll toss my two cents in thereby just inviting myself to the discussion...

Much like I see many do here on this forum.

Other times, OH, OH, OH, I know the answer to this one!

Other times words NEED to be written in an attempt to change thinking and focus to that which the statists and governmentalists do not want people thinking about.

Authority Mr. Galt?

And while reading this post by eye2, I was reminded of this post.

My Two Cents FWIW.

Can anybody delegate an authority they don't have?
Was anybody born with innate authority over anybody else?
Then how did authority nobody had get delegated to those who call themselves government?

Show me my personally signed contract wherein I consented to be governed.
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08-30-2017, 07:05 PM (This post was last modified: 08-30-2017 07:06 PM by eye2i2hear.)
Post: #3
RE: writing, reading, and communicating, oh my! ?
(08-30-2017 12:57 PM)Habenae Est Dominatus Wrote:  And while reading this post by eye2, I was reminded of this post.

That one Poke nudged this one coming in, for sure.
i probably should have been doing a "speed dial" of those all along --'tain't the first one of such by any stretch.

(08-30-2017 12:57 PM)Habenae Est Dominatus Wrote:  One thing I've noticed is NonE's deliberate misspellings to be,
what's that word... cute? Aka funny.

It would be nifty to know, if my suspicion wood happen 2be borne out, that tiz ole eYe who got NonUs off on that IMProper trail... ?
(which if so, that wood mean i've had yet another net positive influence own hymn, aye?! Let's eat Habenae Your'e welcum, Habenae¿!)
[Image: clown%20hatippin.gif?dl=0]


Is it voluntary? (because if it isn't, what inherently is it?)
And can it be voluntary, if there's indoctrination, intimidation, coercion, threats & initiation of violence?
[not to be confused with asking: can it be said to be "voluntary" even when such is present.?]
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08-30-2017, 07:17 PM (This post was last modified: 08-30-2017 07:25 PM by NonEntity.)
Post: #4
RE: writing, reading, and communicating, oh my! ?
Habby Wrote:One thing I've noticed is NonE's... what's that word... cute?

Why thank you Habby. I didn't think you cared.

eYeToo Wrote:It would be nifty to know, if my suspicion wood happen 2be borne out...

Sorry. You WERE a bad influence, but I've always been so afflicted.

- NonE the severely deluded Sister Sleazious .).

"I just don't understand how this happens." Undecided
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08-31-2017, 06:29 AM (This post was last modified: 08-31-2017 06:30 AM by eye2i2hear.)
Post: #5
RE: writing, reading, and communicating, oh my! ?
"TL;DR", Oh ye ironE!
A Mr. Faulkner came up, speaking of authors & styles; and iYe spotted this:
I never know what I think about something until I read what I've written on it.
-William Faulkner

written = posted on a forum.?


sumFaulknerdude Wrote:The artist doesn't have time to listen to the critics. The ones who want to be writers read the reviews, the ones who want to write don't have the time to read reviews.

Facts and truth really don't have much to do with each other.

--NonArtEst2i (the artist formerly known as NonREviews & the whorse road inn own)

[note2self: what if reviewing reviews is part of one's righting writing art...?] Skeptical

one Alvin J Calhoun Wrote:
Clearly, some authors are more okay with long rambling sentences than others. William Faulkner looks at your short sentences and says nothing less than fuck you.
[Image: 1*zwf6_uzjhk_XHr8C7eNqlw.png]

"Rambling"? "Rambling?!" We don'need no stinkin' "rambling"!
(or, "fuck you" Mr Calhoun lol j/k)

(and did someone say "Alice In Wonderland"?! --madasahatter2i) [Image: rabbit%20holin%27.gif?dl=0]

** again, jic: am i comparing mYself to the likes of Faulkner? No but yes; "no", as to their distinctive talent, "yes" to their writing style *cough*anarchy* as righting/rightening rods.? **

Next up: length -vs- girth? Stare
(girth being thickness, communicatively/intercoursingly --tho length tends 2be associated with going "deep".?) [and did someone say "forum max characters per post limit"?]

Some "cute" examples (what, do these dudes think they're being clever?):

sum1 @ OpenCulture Wrote:Despite its occasional use in spoken monologue, the Very Long Literary Sentence properly exists in the mind (hence "stream-of-consciousness"), since the most wordy of literary exhalations would exhaust the lungs’ capacity. Molly Bloom’s 36-page, two-sentence run-on soliloquy at the close of Joyce’s Ulysses takes place entirely in her thoughts. Faulkner’s longest sentence---smack in the middle of Absalom, Absalom! —unspools in Quentin Compson’s tortured, silent ruminations. According to a 1983 Guinness Book of Records, this monster once qualified as literature’s longest at 1,288 words, but that record has long been surpassed, in English at least, by Jonathan Coe’s The Rotter’s Club, which ends with a 33-page-long, 13,955 word sentence. Czech and Polish novelists have written book-length sentences since the sixties, and French writer Mathias Énard puts them all to shame with a one-sentence novel 517 pages long, though its status is “compromised by 23 chapter breaks that alleviate eye strain,” writes Ed Park in the New York Times. Like Faulkner’s glorious run-ons, Jacob Silverman describes Énard’s one-sentence Zone as transmuting "the horrific into something sublime.”

Are these literary stunts kin to Philippe Petit’s highwire challenges—undertaken for the thrill and just to show they can be done? Park sees the “The Very Long Sentence” in more philosophical terms, as “a futile hedge against separation, an unwillingness to part from loved ones, the world, life itself.” Perhaps this is why the very long sentence seems most expressive of life at its fullest and most expansive.

Below, we bring you five long literary sentences culled from various sources on the subject. These are, of course, not the “5 longest,” nor the “5 best,” nor any other superlative. They are simply five fine examples of The Very Long Sentence in literature.

At The New Yorker's "Book Club," Jon Michaud points us toward this long sentence, from Samuel Beckett’s Watt. We find the title character, “an obsessively rational servant,” attempting to “see a pattern in how his master, Mr. Knott, rearranges the furniture.”

Quote:Thus it was not rare to find, on the Sunday, the tallboy on its feet by the fire, and the dressing table on its head by the bed, and the night-stool on its face by the door, and the washand-stand on its back by the window; and, on the Monday, the tallboy on its back by the bed, and the dressing table on its face by the door, and the night-stool on its back by the window and the washand-stand on its feet by the fire; and on the Tuesday…

Here, writes Michaud, the long sentence conveys “a desperate attempt to nail down all the possibilities in a given situation, to keep the world under control by enumerating it.”

The next example, from Poynter, achieves a very different effect. Instead of listing concrete objects, the sentence below from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby opens up into a series of abstract phrases.

Quote:Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby’s house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.

Chosen by The American Scholar editors as one of the “ten best sentences,” the passage, writes Roy Peter Clark, achieves quite a feat: “Long sentences don’t usually hold together under the weight of abstractions, but this one sets a clear path to the most important phrase, planted firmly at the end, ‘his capacity for wonder.’”

Jane Wong at Tin House’s blog “The Open Bar” quotes the hypnotic sentence below from Jamaica Kincaid’s “The Letter from Home.”

Quote:I milked the cows, I churned the butter, I stored the cheese, I baked the bread, I brewed the tea, I washed the clothes, I dressed the children; the cat meowed, the dog barked, the horse neighed, the mouse squeaked, the fly buzzed, the goldfish living in a bowl stretched its jaws; the door banged shut, the stairs creaked, the fridge hummed, the curtains billowed up, the pot boiled, the gas hissed through the stove, the tree branches heavy with snow crashed against the roof; my heart beat loudly thud! thud!, tiny beads of water grew folds, I shed my skin…

Kincaid’s sentences, Wong writes, “have the ability to simultaneously suspend and propel the reader. We trust her semi-colons and follow until we are surprised to find the period. We stand on that rock of a period---with water all around us, and ask: how did we get here?”

The blog Paperback Writer brings us the “puzzle” below from notorious long-sentence-writer Virginia Woolf’s essay “On Being Ill”:

Quote:Considering how common illness is, how tremendous the spiritual change that it brings, how astonishing, when the lights of health go down, the undiscovered countries that are then disclosed, what wastes and deserts of the soul a slight attack of influenza brings to view, what precipices and lawns sprinkled with bright flowers a little rise of temperature reveals, what ancient and obdurate oaks are uprooted in us by the act of sickness, how we go down into the pit of death and feel the water of annihilation close above our heads and wake thinking to find ourselves in the presence of the angels and harpers when we have a tooth out and come to the surface in the dentist’s arm-chair and confuse his “Rinse the Mouth —- rinse the mouth” with the greeting of the Deity stooping from the floor of Heaven to welcome us – when we think of this, as we are frequently forced to think of it, it becomes strange indeed that illness has not taken its place with love and battle and jealousy among the prime themes of literature.

Blogger Rebecca quotes Woolf as a challenge to her readers to become better writers. “This sentence is not something to be feared,” she writes, “it is something to be embraced.”

Finally, from The Barnes & Noble Book Blog, we have the very Molly Bloom-like sentence below from John Updike’s Rabbit, Run:

Quote:But then they were married (she felt awful about being pregnant before but Harry had been talking about marriage for a while and anyway laughed when she told him in early February about missing her period and said Great she was terribly frightened and he said Great and lifted her put his arms around under her bottom and lifted her like you would a child he could be so wonderful when you didn’t expect it in a way it seemed important that you didn’t expect it there was so much nice in him she couldn’t explain to anybody she had been so frightened about being pregnant and he made her be proud) they were married after her missing her second period in March and she was still little clumsy dark-complected Janice Springer and her husband was a conceited lunk who wasn’t good for anything in the world Daddy said and the feeling of being alone would melt a little with a little drink.

Sentences like these, writes Barnes & Noble blogger Hanna McGrath, “demand something from the reader: patience.” That may be so, but they reward that patience with delight for those who love language too rich for the pinched limitations of workaday grammar and syntax.

(well, iYe dunno about any "demand" for patience, but a request, sure.?) [it is voluntary afterall, aye?]

--runons2i (the artist formally known as NonREwards2i & the whorse road inn on, girthed deep)

alass, We need sum Faulkner (as he gets to a use of parentheses & other nifty punksyouation); from (the aforementioned) Absalom, Absalom:
Faulkner Wrote:Just exactly like Father if Father had known as much about it the night before I went out there as he did the day after I came back thinking Mad impotent old man who realised at last that there must be some limit even to the capabilities of a demon for doing harm, who must have seen his situation as that of the show girl, the pony, who realises that the principal tune she prances to comes not from horn and fiddle and drum but from a clock and calendar, must have seen himself as the old wornout cannon which realises that it can deliver just one more fierce shot and crumble to dust in its own furious blast and recoil, who looked about upon the scene which was still within his scope and compass and saw son gone, vanished, more insuperable to him now than if the son were dead since now (if the son still lived) his name would be different and those to call him by it strangers and whatever dragon’s outcropping of Sutpen blood the son might sow on the body of whatever strange woman would therefore carry on the tradition, accomplish the hereditary evil and harm under another name and upon and among people who will never have heard the right one; daughter doomed to spinsterhood who had chosen spinsterhood already before there was anyone named Charles Bon since the aunt who came to succor her in bereavement and sorrow found neither but instead that calm absolutely impenetrable face between a homespun dress and sunbonnet seen before a closed door and again in a cloudy swirl of chickens while Jones was building the coffin and which she wore during the next year while the aunt lived there and the three women wove their own garments and raised their own food and cut the wood they cooked it with (excusing what help they had from Jones who lived with his granddaughter in the abandoned fishing camp with its collapsing roof and rotting porch against which the rusty scythe which Sutpen was to lend him, make him borrow to cut away the weeds from the door-and at last forced him to use though not to cut weeds, at least not vegetable weeds -would lean for two years) and wore still after the aunt’s indignation had swept her back to town to live on stolen garden truck and out o f anonymous baskets left on her front steps at night, the three of them, the two daughters negro and white and the aunt twelve miles away watching from her distance as the two daughters watched from theirs the old demon, the ancient varicose and despairing Faustus fling his final main now with the Creditor’s hand already on his shoulder, running his little country store now for his bread and meat, haggling tediously over nickels and dimes with rapacious and poverty-stricken whites and negroes, who at one time could have galloped for ten miles in any direction without crossing his own boundary, using out of his meagre stock the cheap ribbons and beads and the stale violently-colored candy with which even an old man can seduce a fifteen-year-old country girl, to ruin the granddaughter o f his partner, this Jones-this gangling malaria-ridden white man whom he had given permission fourteen years ago to squat in the abandoned fishing camp with the year-old grandchild-Jones, partner porter and clerk who at the demon’s command removed with his own hand (and maybe delivered too) from the showcase the candy beads and ribbons, measured the very cloth from which Judith (who had not been bereaved and did not mourn) helped the granddaughter to fashion a dress to walk past the lounging men in, the side-looking and the tongues, until her increasing belly taught her embarrassment-or perhaps fear;-Jones who before ’61 had not even been allowed to approach the front of the house and who during the next four years got no nearer than the kitchen door and that only when he brought the game and fish and vegetables on which the seducer-to-be’s wife and daughter (and Clytie too, the one remaining servant, negro, the one who would forbid him to pass the kitchen door with what he brought) depended on to keep life in them, but who now entered the house itself on the (quite frequent now) afternoons when the demon would suddenly curse the store empty of customers and lock the door and repair to the rear and in the same tone in which he used to address his orderly or even his house servants when he had them (and in which he doubtless ordered Jones to fetch from the showcase the ribbons and beads and candy) direct Jones to fetch the jug, the two of them (and Jones even sitting now who in the old days, the old dead Sunday afternoons of monotonous peace which they spent beneath the scuppernong arbor in the back yard, the demon lying in the hammock while Jones squatted against a post, rising from time to time to pour for the demon from the demijohn and the bucket of spring water which he had fetched from the spring more than a mile away then squatting again, chortling and chuckling and saying `Sho, Mister Tawm’ each time the demon paused)-the two of them drinking turn and turn about from the jug and the demon not lying down now nor even sitting but reaching after the third or second drink that old man’s state of impotent and furious undefeat in which he would rise, swaying and plunging and shouting for his horse and pistols to ride single-handed into Washington and shoot Lincoln (a year or so too late here) and Sherman both, shouting, ‘Kill them! Shoot them down like the dogs they are!’ and Jones: ‘Sho, Kernel; sho now’ and catching him as he fell and commandeering the first passing wagon to take him to the house and carry him up the front steps and through the paintless formal door beneath its fanlight imported pane by pane from Europe which Judith held open for him to enter with no change, no alteration in that calm frozen face which she had worn for four years now, and on up the stairs and into the bedroom and put him to bed like a baby and then lie down himself on the floor beside the bed though not to sleep since before dawn the man on the bed would stir and groan and Jones would say, ‘flyer I am, Kernel. Hit’s all right. They aint whupped us yit, air they?’ this Jones who after the demon rode away with the regiment when the granddaughter was only eight years old would tell people that he ‘was lookin after Major’s place and niggers’ even before they had time to ask him why he was not with the troops and perhaps in time came to believe the lie himself, who was among the first to greet the demon when he returned, to meet him at the gate and say, ‘Well, Kernel, they kilt us but they aint whupped us yit, air they?’ who even worked, labored, sweat at the demon’s behest during that first furious period while the demon believed he could restore by sheer indomitable willing the Sutpen’s Hundred which he remembered and had lost, labored with no hope of pay or reward who must have seen long before the demon did (or would admit it) that the task was hopeless-blind Jones who apparently saw still in that furious lecherous wreck the old fine figure of the man who once galloped on the black thoroughbred about that domain two boundaries of which the eye could not see from any point.


Is it voluntary? (because if it isn't, what inherently is it?)
And can it be voluntary, if there's indoctrination, intimidation, coercion, threats & initiation of violence?
[not to be confused with asking: can it be said to be "voluntary" even when such is present.?]
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