Eaux Dear

A dubious pleasure afforded by the subscription-free Irish Times is reading John Waters without having to pay for it. Until today, I had never read a full article by him before that I can recall: only excerpts lifted by other bloggers. The first thought that springs to mind, on reading today’s effusions, is: people paid to read this?

I mean, I’m fond of writing the odd incoherent trail of pompous claptrap myself, so maybe I shouldn’t throw too many stones, but seriously, WTF:

STRANGE, HOW language absorbs absurdities and mounts them like fake jewels in a way that either disguises their absurd essences or normalises them so as to render the observer unsure whether the problem resides with the words or himself.

If that introduction is intended as an example of the phenomenon it describes, all I can say is, point bloody well taken, Monsieur.

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