At the Threshold of Liquid Geology

(Automatic writing/Verbal Automatism)

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Title: At the Threshold of Liquid Geology and other automatic tales
Author: Eric W. Bragg
ISBN: 0-595-24021-6
Price: $14.95
Publisher contact:
iUniverse Inc., 5220 S. 16th Street, Suite 200, Lincoln, NE 68512
www.iuniverse.com
Toll-free call: 877.823.9235
International: 402.323.7800

 

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excerpt:

 

A fisherman from the Caribbean plays with his long hair while singing intimate lullabies having to do with the obsessive pursuit of raw mackerel. The raw mackerel is of course important, but not more important than clothes, money and other superficial items of utter pettiness. If the legs of the cat had no holes in them, then there would be no exit for leg-mackerel, and they would remain comfortably trapped within these agile, furry limbs for most of eternity, leading to the unhappy precipitation of mashed pomegranate seeds. The fish seeds release their final breath, and the felines resume a game of panty-billiards that had been initiated four hundred years ago, when people were still afraid of tomatoes, and when the stock market was nothing but a cruel and scary fantasy. But upon the arrival of great hordes of the highly paranoid fruit bats, the pomegranate seeds were reintegrated within the folds of smashed skin, and reconstructed fruits were delightfully soaked in a mild brine to create a nutritious bat soup, which these fruit bats would consume before a great journey to a new set of caves on another continent. This faraway continent was the very same one where other fruit bats resided and played the cello during idle moments when the seagulls became the horns on a sweaty forehead during a steep hike up frozen mountains. The skeletal architecture of the fruit bats was an x-ray bath towel that once was on sale during an anthropologically important religious festival involving the throwing of horseshoes at furniture. Once the moisture-soup was absorbed, each paranoid fruit-bat became a red maple leaf that was carried away by the wind, erasing grimaces with the sunset of red maple trees, and using laser surgery to attach fresh eyeballs to sightless coconuts.

 

 

 

 

 

Back Cover Description: 

        A seductive collection of stunning, psychological prose-poems executed in an improvisational style. A contemporary example of surrealist expression.

          This modern collection of surrealist prose-poems was inspired by the improvisational method of automatic writing, popularized by the International Surrealist Movement. From one brain to another without any literary rules or standards, the words in these automatic writings are not just words, but rays of subconscious illumination that peel away the various layers of the "civilized," western psyche, one by one.
          Full of bizarre transformations and dark, irrationally motivated patterns of erotic thought, these writings will seduce the reader into nothing less than a sublime overload and transgressive derangement of the senses. While a must-read for the poetically daring and the adventurous, this book is not recommended for those who seek peaceful numbness and safety!

 

 

Reviews:

  Surrealism is not dead, December 1, 2004

Reviewer: Paul Lappen (Manchester, CT USA) - See all my reviews

To quote from the back cover of this book: "This modern collection of surrealist prose-poems was inspired by the improvisational method of automatic writing, popularized by the International Surrealist movement. From one brain to another without any literary rules or standards; the words in these automatic writings are not just words, but rays of subconscious illumination that peel away the various layers of the `civilized,' western psyche, one by one."

For those who understand what that means, and are interested in such writing, read no further; buy this book. For everyone else, these are not stories in the usual sense. They are collections of strange images where bizarre things happen right next to each other. In just the first story, a thin stream of sugar is dropped into a tiger's eyeball, a frog burps a shiny platinum marble, there is a talking caterpillar, and an umbrella reveals a family sunning themselves on the shore of an island continent formed from green volcanic glass deposited hundreds of thousands of years ago.

This book is very much not for everyone. For those who want to give their brain a workout, this is an excellent choice. For those who want "normal" books with plot and characters and all those English Literature words, this book can be skipped

***

Reviewer:  Jennie S. Bev  :

BookReviewClub.com

Bragg's At the Threshold of Liquid Geology is unlike any other book I've ever read. It is finely-crafted, radical and surreal. The proses and poems symbolize the very existence of our being: full of contrasts and restlessness. If you've been searching for a book that nourishes your soul and appetite for anything unusual and extremely fluid, Bragg's is probably what you're looking for. It is the Picasso of literature, I must say. Divided into six stories, this anthology is an example of post-modern literature with a nose for new age spirituality. But with a punch, I must reiterate.[]

December, 2002

 

 

Preface:


 
         The author hopes that this collection of automatic writing is perceived not as an "Art" or "fantasy" book, but instead as a chronology of poetic images to be used in the exploration of human subjectivity. Automatic writing, ever since it was first systematically implemented by the first surrealists in the early twentieth century, has for many years provided a valid alternative to a busy world whose various forms of daily thinking tend to follow logical, rational and often utilitarian trends. With the efforts of contemporary surrealists all over the world, the practice of automatism has flourished in many places and at many times into the twenty-first century.
          The creation of written poetic thought, whether within this work or anyone else's, is attainable when the poetic investigator achieves a simple but disciplined state of 'receptive disinterestedness' in order to capture the flow of thoughts. This type of verbal reception is comparable to the mental chatter sometimes experienced during the early stages of sleep, or ultimately within the dream, for example. The worth of automatism, verbal or otherwise, resides in its unabridged poetic content, in its ability to make a psychologically uncensored photograph of the mind as it triumphs over its obstacles, in its effort to tap the subconscious roots of human existence.
          This method of surreal knowledge has its unique place among other logically elaborated varieties, creating a sublime dialogue whose content can supersede the limitations of conscious reality. With such a subconscious alphabet, it may be possible to communicate experiences and latent movements of thought that normally go undetected in the waking world. If the imagination can overcome the reality principle of the moment, of today, then new possibilities for thinking are brought to light. And if we were interested in expanding the limits of our subjectivity, then wouldn't this form of poetic automatism make a great tool for discovery? The proof is in the experience.

 

At the Threshold of Liquid Geology: Automatic writing / Surrealist literature

Front cover.

 

copyright 2003, 2004, Eric W. Bragg