“Of course,” Ignatius said in a thoughtful, serious voice, “this could be a worldwide deception.” “The next war could turn out to be one massive orgy. Good grief. How many of the military leaders of the world may simply be deranged old sodomites acting out some fake fantasy role? Actually, this might be quite beneficial…
“Look, there’s a sailor drifting along Chartres Street. He looks rather lonely.” The young man glanced down to the Chartres end of the Alley. “Oh him,” he said. “That’s only Timmy.” “Timmy?” Ignatius asked angrily. “Do you know him?” “Of course,” the young man said in a voice heavy with boredom. “He’s one of my…
“Just look at my sweater, you disgusting monster.” “Only the most flamboyant offal would be seen in a miscarriage like that. You must have some shame or at least some taste in dress.” “You awful creature. You huge thing.” “I will probably spend several years at the Eye, ear, Nose, and Throat Hospital having this…
Now this is what I call a teacher — the teacher happens to be Toole’s biographer. a confederacy of duncesCory MacLauchlinJohn Kennedy TooleLiteratureteaching
“I suspect that the parties you attend must be true visions of the apocalypse. I knew that our society was coming to this. In a few years, you and your friends will probably take over the country.” “Oh, we’re planning to,” the young man said with a bright smile. “We have connections in the highest…
Interview with Cory MacLauchlin. (See my review of “Butterfly”). a confederacy of duncesButterfly in the TypewriterCory MacLauchlinJohn Kennedy Toolenew orleansphilosophical literature
He had read in the morning paper that a ladies’ art guild was having a hanging of its paintings in Pirate’s Alley. Imagining that the paintings would be offensive enough to interest him for a while, he pushed his wagon up onto the flagstones of the Alley toward the variety of artwork dangling from the…
Unfortunately, my feet could not keep pace with my soul (p. 197). Some musk which my system generates must be especially appealing to the authorities of the government . . . Like a bitch in heat, I seem to attract a coterie of policemen and sanitation officials (p. 198). Perhaps the Quarter will provide me…
Therefore, my size itself is a safeguard against my ever sinking too low within the structure of our civilization. I was there — on the very rim of our age — when my mother’s cataclysmic intemperance, as you well know, catapulted me into the fever of contemporary existence (pp. 195-196). (H/T to Cory McLaughlin for the…
The grandeur of my physique, the complexity of my worldview, the decency and taste implicit in my carriage, the grace with which I function in the mire of today’s world — all of these at once confuse and astound Clyde. Now he has relegated me to working in the French Quarter, an area which houses…
manwithoutqualities 