MOBIUS THE STRIPPER by Gabriel Josipovici

“I red Jennett. Prust. Nitch.”

This story is in two layers with  a line between, and you my choose to read the text across, above the line, from beginning to end of the pages,  then later the same below the line. The otherwise breaks in the text make this seem easier. But I chose to read each complete page one by one, while ignoring the line, and this seems to evoke a story gestalt that took me from the eponymous stripper of his folds of banana skin flesh as not strictly sexual but more spiritual. And those who watch him or are asked to watch him at the sex club, a woman with big feet and some man as semi-collusive narrator whom she wants to join her at the club to see the stripper, who (and I don’t know to whom that ‘who’ belongs) seems to be writing it all down  to avoid suicide when faced with a writers block. And it works supremely!  Where has this story been all my life? It took a bit of chance serendipity, I guess, even to find it today.

I loved in particular the peacocks and the rugger match with various famous writers. 

“‘For what is life?’ he would say. ‘Chance. And what is my life. The result of a million and one chances. But behind chance is truth. The whole problem is to get be-“


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