5 thoughts on “Non-Syncopated Alignments And Corporeal Jurisdictions (Stories) – Thomas Phillips

  1. Sturdy book about 5 by 6 inches, and inclusive of a music CD that I assume to be music by the author. And some striking black and white photos. About 40 pages, restricted to 22 copies plus a few for private distribution. September 2018.

    My previous reviews of this author: https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/tag/thomas-phillips/
    And this publisher: https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/tag/raphus-press/

    There may be a delay before I am able to read this book.



    I warn you about this warning to the rest of the book, the rest of the book that I have not yet read. This warning itself (a sizeable proportion of the whole text in which it is embodied) may send you mad or make you very frightened, or both.

    I will not be discussing the text-accompanying photographs in this book, other than to say I find them obliquely in synergy with what I am led to expect by this initial warning.

    I intend to listen to the music CD after I have finished reading the text.


    “Is this Dada or Fluxus performance, or the mere performativity of a child under the sway of self-importance?”

    In a disarmingly aggravated prose that, nevertheless, flows smoothly, we follow one woman or two women, with a small daughter or puppy dog, or both, and car as imagined jet aeroplane, possibly. I wonder if the child got the gender of the person hanging in the tree, correctly.
    This is strangely disturbing to me, especially when I reread my own brief story ‘The Parachutist’ first published in ‘Night Owl Network’ vol 2 No 13 (1993) and first posted to be read here in 2007: http://weirdmonger.blogspot.com/2007/11/parachutist-penguins-at-midnight.html

    “What is veracity in the age of seriously relative truths and imbeciles merely reacting to propaganda.”


    “: to retreat ahead of it.”

    From the translation of the de Queiroz poem (Damned Art 1939) by Alcebiades Diniz Miguel to the Francis Bacon ‘New Atlantis’ quote (aptly after which I listened to the 6’ 36” of sound bliss in the CD), I have decided that this book has given me a form of spiritual parachute, although this is not explicitly a good or bad thing, not even explicit at all. And this final work is in fact a form of text bliss (an amazing conceit), by dint of another sound recording, an interchange between listener and sounder, life and death, in Damian-like interview, and my simultaneous review (here) of The Book of Flowering comes into strong mutual synergy. And the naive policeman in the Murakami (here), also simultaneous. I wonder if Barthes had a parachute available?


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