dennis scharnberg

“It was gossamer, Dan. Pure gaseous frivolity. Diffusion of nothing at all.”

Augustus Bligh, Crawlspace.

He dabbled a bit too casually in matters of business. For a while, it was what he referred to as “old coins.” And then there was the wholesaling of damaged fruit. Regardless of what he tried he always managed to lose his shirt. And he always had to start again from zero. At least that’s how it appeared to those who knew him best.

Harold Nickleby, Captain Hugo and the Case of the Mystic Rhymes.

“He reminds me,” replied Brenda, “of the comedy writer I once knew. So clever. So wonderful.”

Chadwick Graves, One Damned Thing After Another.

Bored of Directors

Andrew Tertullian, Pandora’s Ponderous Puns.

First, they define “knowing” in such a way as to make knowing unattainable. Then, they declare that we cannot know.

Nigel Swoone, Old Theories of Time.

After the destruction of “all things solid,” the radical has nothing further to offer.

Lawrence Knowles, Styles of Mendacity: The Life and Work of Max Horkheimer.

Selfhood is the thing, yes. But they do not want to examine the self. They just want to proceed.

Hill Boothby, Essays in Disappointment Management.

“He warned us about artists. No, it was about painters. Painters and adulterers.”

H. S. Hecatone, A Botched Civilization.

“The museums are next,” muttered Hopkins somewhat cryptically.

Marston Moore, Sweet Meteor of Death.

“I want to become an action painter,” confessed Edward. “Is it too late for that?”

Benedict Elder, A Cosmopolitan Paradise.