Read Online Wittgenstein's Mistress by David Markson, Steven Moore - Free Book Online
Authors: David Markson, Steven Moore
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Psychological fiction, Social Science, Survival, womens studies, Women, Long Island (N.Y.), Women - New York (State) - Long Island - Psychology
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undeniably a mercantile proposition. All ten years of it, just to see who would pay tariff to whom, so as to be able to make use of a channel of water.
A different poet, named Rupert Brooke, died in the Dardanelles during the first World War, even if I do not believe that I remembered this when I visited the Dardanelles, by which I mean the Hellespont.
Still, I find it extraordinary that young men died there in a war that long ago, and then died in the same place three thousand years after that.
And on second thought the gold coins that Rembrandt's pupils painted on the floor of his studio are exactly what I was talking about when I was talking about Robert Rauschenberg.
Or rather what I was talking about when I was talking about the person who is not at the window in the painting of this house.
The coins having only been coins until Rembrandt bent over.
Which did not deter me from rigging up a generator and floodlights in the Colosseum, however.
Or from being shrewd enough to call the cat Calpurnia, after having gotten no response with Nero and Caligula.
Still, if Rembrandt had had a cat, it would have strolled right past the coins without so much as a glance.
Which does not imply that Rembrandt's cat was more intelligent than Rembrandt.
Even if it so happens that Rembrandt kept on doing that, incidentally, no matter how many times they tricked him.
The world being full of stories about pupils playing tricks on their teachers, of course.
Leonardo once played a trick on Verrocchio by filling in part of a canvas so beautifully that Verrocchio decided to go into another line of work.
One finds it difficult to think of Aristotle playing tricks on Plato, on the other hand.
Or even to think of Aristotle doing lessons.
One can easily manage to visualize Helen doing them, however. One can even see her chewing on a pencil.
Assuming the Greeks had had pencils, that would be.
As a matter of fact even Archimedes sometimes did his geometry by writing in the sand. With a stick.
I accept the fact that it is doubtless not the same stick.
Even if it could well have drifted for years. Over and back any number of times, in fact.
Helen left Hermione at home when she deserted Menelaus and ran off with Paris, which is the one thing Helen did that one wishes she hadn't.
Though it is not impossible that the ancient writers are not to be fully trusted in regard to such topics, having been mostly men.
What one really wishes is that Sappho had written some plays.
Though in fact there are other versions anyhow.
Such as in the painting by Tiepolo, for instance, where Helen is shown being carried off by force.
The Rape of Helen, in fact, being what Tiepolo called the painting.
Medea is a little harder to visualize chewing on a pencil.
Perhaps at seven or eight. After that she would have been Germaine Greer.
For the life of me I cannot remember when the last time I thought about Germaine Greer was. Possibly there are some books by her in this house, however.
Though I still cannot imagine what that other title might mean, about grass no longer being real.
Perhaps my stick was once a baseball bat.
Perhaps Rembrandt's pupils once played baseball.
Cassandra was raped too, of course, after Troy fell.
Doubtless there is no way of verifying that El Greco was descended from Hermione, however, after practically three thousand years.
Near the end of his life, Titian manipulated his pigments as much with his fingers as with a brush, which was surely not the way Giovanni Bellini taught him.
Naturally I had no way of knowing if the cat at the Colosseum had nibbled at anything behind my back, since most of the cans had seemed less than full to begin with.
Doubtless Brahms was once a pupil, also.
Even if, when he was only twelve, he was already playing the piano in a dance hall, which was more likely a house of prostitution.
In fact Brahms went to prostitutes for the rest of his life.
Nonetheless it is still not impossible to
A different poet, named Rupert Brooke, died in the Dardanelles during the first World War, even if I do not believe that I remembered this when I visited the Dardanelles, by which I mean the Hellespont.
Still, I find it extraordinary that young men died there in a war that long ago, and then died in the same place three thousand years after that.
And on second thought the gold coins that Rembrandt's pupils painted on the floor of his studio are exactly what I was talking about when I was talking about Robert Rauschenberg.
Or rather what I was talking about when I was talking about the person who is not at the window in the painting of this house.
The coins having only been coins until Rembrandt bent over.
Which did not deter me from rigging up a generator and floodlights in the Colosseum, however.
Or from being shrewd enough to call the cat Calpurnia, after having gotten no response with Nero and Caligula.
Still, if Rembrandt had had a cat, it would have strolled right past the coins without so much as a glance.
Which does not imply that Rembrandt's cat was more intelligent than Rembrandt.
Even if it so happens that Rembrandt kept on doing that, incidentally, no matter how many times they tricked him.
The world being full of stories about pupils playing tricks on their teachers, of course.
Leonardo once played a trick on Verrocchio by filling in part of a canvas so beautifully that Verrocchio decided to go into another line of work.
One finds it difficult to think of Aristotle playing tricks on Plato, on the other hand.
Or even to think of Aristotle doing lessons.
One can easily manage to visualize Helen doing them, however. One can even see her chewing on a pencil.
Assuming the Greeks had had pencils, that would be.
As a matter of fact even Archimedes sometimes did his geometry by writing in the sand. With a stick.
I accept the fact that it is doubtless not the same stick.
Even if it could well have drifted for years. Over and back any number of times, in fact.
Helen left Hermione at home when she deserted Menelaus and ran off with Paris, which is the one thing Helen did that one wishes she hadn't.
Though it is not impossible that the ancient writers are not to be fully trusted in regard to such topics, having been mostly men.
What one really wishes is that Sappho had written some plays.
Though in fact there are other versions anyhow.
Such as in the painting by Tiepolo, for instance, where Helen is shown being carried off by force.
The Rape of Helen, in fact, being what Tiepolo called the painting.
Medea is a little harder to visualize chewing on a pencil.
Perhaps at seven or eight. After that she would have been Germaine Greer.
For the life of me I cannot remember when the last time I thought about Germaine Greer was. Possibly there are some books by her in this house, however.
Though I still cannot imagine what that other title might mean, about grass no longer being real.
Perhaps my stick was once a baseball bat.
Perhaps Rembrandt's pupils once played baseball.
Cassandra was raped too, of course, after Troy fell.
Doubtless there is no way of verifying that El Greco was descended from Hermione, however, after practically three thousand years.
Near the end of his life, Titian manipulated his pigments as much with his fingers as with a brush, which was surely not the way Giovanni Bellini taught him.
Naturally I had no way of knowing if the cat at the Colosseum had nibbled at anything behind my back, since most of the cans had seemed less than full to begin with.
Doubtless Brahms was once a pupil, also.
Even if, when he was only twelve, he was already playing the piano in a dance hall, which was more likely a house of prostitution.
In fact Brahms went to prostitutes for the rest of his life.
Nonetheless it is still not impossible to
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