(Wikipedia Page, first draft, freehand doodlings of sunonhead after falling asleep in the sun on Sunday Morning. Lakota suggests that I should post a totally nude and completely revealing photo of myself on the internet and in the spirit of Randallian absurdistry I would of course have a rampant erection inevitably, as to its impressiveness, well I am fairly confident you would all schmooze any way which I would take at facevalue thankyou very much…
The only known photograph of Paul Squires was taken decades ago. He is sitting on the beach behind his house at the time making a sandcastle with something long and white hanging out of his mouth. At high tide it was possible to throw a line from his back verandah into Moreton Bay. He only ever caught one fish, impaling a squiggling prawn on a laser sharp hook and throwing it into the bay then feeling the warmth of the fire and staring blankly out into a vast smooth ocean reflecting an infinity of stars. There is Orion, the hunter when Whack! a flathead grabbed the prawn as it tumbled into the channel and ripped off into the depths. The fish is wriggling and squiggling under his hand and a sharp knife flashes in the other and the rhythm of the fish slows and there is a silence. This photograph was taken that afternoon.
When drunk Squires is known to have claimed the most outrageous things are true, that it is possible to contain actual magic in language but his definition of actual magic changes with his mood. He claims such ironic absurdistries as having used the internet to have achieved a kind of immortality, sometimes through the blatancy of not deleting anything and sometimes by having transcended the human, since it is a fundamental aspect of being human to know that you are going to die.
He is waiting patiently to feel that he has earned the respect of his peers so that he can stop trying so hard, the genre settles around his shoulders and it requires a mightier shrug as he gets older and the concretions of age, scars, barnacles. The fact is he no longer wishes to be reborn, to be better, he only desires the freedom to be what he is.
Squires believes that one of the most neglected arts of this new genre is the link, people don’t use them enough, he thinks, they would rather write it all down again,
25 responses so far ↓
Lakota // April 13, 2008 at 1:03 pm
~stomping feet, clapping and wolf whistling~
i won’t say the laying of self nekkid on the page is better than the picture of you nekkid - since i haven’t seen the evidence to compare you understand {{the castlebuilding one though is nummy}}… but this is quite the Paul feast and lip smacking satisfying. ~excuse me while i burp in a ladylike manner~
**muwwwahhhhh***
I adore you.
randall // April 13, 2008 at 2:03 pm
This is interesting- I to blog because I feel as if it may just be one way, or the only way that I have a shot at immortality. The concept of immortality is a beautiful one and when I read your Wik. entry I am suddenly feeling hopeful that you may indeed achieve this honorable status- right along side Beckett, Bernhard and Homer. Keep on blog blog blogging and I will see you in eternity (maybe- I have got to garner more comments first).
Paul // April 13, 2008 at 2:12 pm
Lakota, Randall. Randall, Lakota. Play nice. C(link)
johemmant // April 13, 2008 at 6:34 pm
mightier shrug as he gets older and the concretions of age, scars, barnacles
wonderful. Well you are, aren’t you.
Scot // April 14, 2008 at 1:37 am
post it.
Crafty Green Poet // April 14, 2008 at 2:36 am
I really like the tone you’ve used here.
johemmant // April 14, 2008 at 4:16 am
Just realised I missed that penultimate link to irony, brilliant, you do make me laugh
And I agree with Scot, which was what I came back to say, post it, post haste.
cruxandflux // April 14, 2008 at 7:59 am
paul squires appears to be an interesting fellow indeed. I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth, ill definitely be back!
Fabian G. Franklin // April 14, 2008 at 2:50 pm
Building castles in the sand, that is what sounds good to me. Margueritas en nachos… yipieeeee. My cigar is burnt and my beer is warm, time to go to bed. I like the cognac flavored cigars. Yes, Mr. Squires is a jubilant troubadore, a valedicto tory,and he knows the magic story of seven sisters and seven stars. I’ll show him how to catch some fish one day.
Paul // April 14, 2008 at 6:54 pm
haha, will we ever meet again sober? Fabian you are a champion among champions and I can never see you without wanting to tip my hat, even if you are already gone and don’t see it,
now i have a sneaky idea and i’m gonna put it here where nearly noone will ever read it and it is this, the next time i get a piece with over one hundred comments, on one piece, i guarantee my very next post will be me totally naked and full frontal, password protected and the codeword will be bugger, that will mean it is that post and then i will hide the password to the post here, hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha, mad genius at its worst, i love it, i’m gonna do it,
johemmant // April 14, 2008 at 7:37 pm
making furious notes, ha ha.
Paul // April 14, 2008 at 8:01 pm
oh well make this note then, sneaky one, i wont count my own comments, in fact, i already regret saying it, so i’m not gonna be helping, but i will stand by my word, stand hahah by my words, for conceptual art’s sake, of course.
Peter // April 15, 2008 at 12:03 am
“The only known photograph of Paul Squires was taken decades ago. He is sitting on the beach behind his house . . .” Haha, I was really hoping the sentence would end there, your house being the sandcastle!
Legend indeed! — If only all Wikipedia posts read so well, were so lyrical.
You are right Peter, again, I just did that in my mind, remade that sentence so it does that and it would go past on the rhythm so quick people would think they saw something they didn’t and it would be great, but I can’t do it because it is your idea, bugger, you are a master of prose, miles in front of me, man,
Paul // April 15, 2008 at 6:53 pm
“He is sitting on the beach behind his house at the time making a sandcastle with something long and white hanging out of his mouth”
he is sitting on the beach behind his sandcastle with something long and white hanging out of his mouth like a half swallowed lure,
Peter // April 15, 2008 at 8:54 pm
“you are a master of prose, miles in front of me, man,” — That’s a nice compliment, but you know it’s not true. We are all equals here, else how could we be friends?
Peter // April 15, 2008 at 8:54 pm
Wait!? What is this about 100 comments?
Peter // April 15, 2008 at 8:56 pm
Haha, I thought I would do my part!
I’m taking off this morning to visit a friend in Paris for a couple weeks, so I shall be absent from the blogosphere. I look forward to reading your works when I return. Take care!
A couple of weeks in Paris, I am jealous, bring back stories, have fun,
Bob // April 15, 2008 at 9:33 pm
I keep trying to tell you… left side firm at take away. Sweet Jeebus, Paul, at this rate you’re *never* gonna break a hundred. Oh, and… now I know why you spend so much time in the sand.
harmonie22 // April 16, 2008 at 10:32 pm
very nice pic, sir squires. Only I’m curious as to what your ethnic background is. I can’t figure it out, but I’m guessing your a combo? I have this bad habit (I think because I’m a hybrid born of parents who are both hybrids) of liking to figure out bloodlines. Forgive me if I’m being rude.
Paul // April 19, 2008 at 9:42 am
Ahh, that is a question I have hidden answers to and I am reluctant to pare them down to words too obvious, i can say my father was descendant of Welsh coal miners and my mother of Russian Jews, born within a few hundred kilometres of each other but, like a knot that unravels, a continuous diaspora…
harmonie22 // April 20, 2008 at 5:55 pm
Thanks for indulging my shameless (drunken) curiousity. All that matters is that you are here, as you, being you.
peterandthehare // April 30, 2008 at 8:18 pm
why, hello.
Paul // April 30, 2008 at 8:32 pm
hello, Peter, or is that the Hare who I must admit is a little scary at times with his ability to warn about words which we are not qualified to use,
Fabian G. Franklin // May 10, 2008 at 5:55 pm
Now I will confound and astound by making myself disappear and reappear as the infamous nickbunny of multiply fame. I hear the Ozark Mountain Daredevils playing Chicken Train. bach bach bach…bach. If you’ve never seen Chicken Train or heard it, type it into yon limpid search engine. The clarity of the tasty fowl will be sure to amaze.
The Poem Below « hello, // May 11, 2008 at 11:20 am
[...] out the wrinkles and as soon as its finished, whoosh its gone, not that anyone will notice, haha, not a meaningless detour, if you want to know the password and dont, but really i wouldn’t bother its not [...]
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